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TALES of 

Enchantment 


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...BY... 

By M. Y. T. H. MYTH 

Author of “A Tale' Confided by the Woods ” 


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BROADWAY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
835 Broadway, < % New York 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two CoDie.'! Received 

DEC 19 

Cowritt.it entry 

CLASS GL XXc, Ho, 
^ <p 1 G 

COPY d. 


COTYRIGHT, 1908J 
BY 

BROADWAY PUBLISHING COMPANY 


All Rights Reserved 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

Page 

Wild Roses and a Happy Family 7 

I. Barren 9 

II. Outskirts of Spring 14 

hi. Nuptials in the Heart of Spring 20 

iv. The Heart of Summer 25 

v. Autumn and Winter 30 

vi. Another Spring and a Home 38 

vii. What a Venture! 57 

viii. Another Home 63 

ix. New Departures 72 

II. 

Embodiment of F vagrancy — Christmas Story , 
Narrative of Adventures, and Fairy Tale.. 81 

I. Christmas Boxes 83 

II. Promises 86 

hi. A Speech 88 

iv. An Original Stage 90 

v. A Fairy Tale . 9 1 

vi. A Hermitage 98 

vii. Fragrancy 102 

viii. Finis Coronat Opus 117 

ix. The True Issue 118 


ii Contents 

III. • Page 

Allotted for Each Other; or, A Modern 

Paradise 123 

I. A Dream 125 

II. Haunted Grounds 128 

hi. The Rose Garden and Care of Faith 136 

iv. The Meeting and Its Consequences 139 

V. Disenchantments 14 3 

vi. A Paradise 152 

IV. 

The Way to Wings 159 

I. Aeronauts 161 

II. The Unexpected Happens 168 

hi. A Circuit of Castles * 172 

iv. Gifts 184 

v. How to Find a Situation 195 

vi. Wings 198 

V. 

Nature to the Rescue t.... 209 

I. Wildwood 211 

II. Experiences 216 

hi. A Serenade 223 

iv. Whisperings 225 

v. A Storm 228 

vi. The Rescues 232 

Vii. Light 236 

VI. 

My Dog Schneider 241 


WILD ROSES 

AND 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


WILD ROSES AND 

A HAPPY FAMILY. 


i. 

BARREN. 

In an insignificant village, surrounded by 
sterile hills, a dog barked lustily for his mis- 
tress. 

“Hush, Serafino!” said Rosette: “Dominusis 
praying.” 

This, in a whisper of the mistress — young and 
little, almost like the dog — from a first -story 
window; the highest story ^of the priory; for 
houses were there built on sand. 

“Priory,” was really a misnomer, applied be- 
cause a retired clergyman lived in that ordinary 
building. 

Another bark. 

Out of another window peeped the house- 
9 


Unique Tales* 


keeper, a corpulent affair; and cried in tones 
far harsher than Serafino’s: “Hush the dog! 
Dominus is praying.” 

“I know, godmother,” meekly said the child ; 
“in vain I tried ” 

The dog on the sand bench could not be ap- 
peased; and barks and retorts brought to the 
surface the prior in person, who, if he had 
prayed, had prayed during slumber. 

“This wail,” preached he in the pulpit (or 
rather at a third window), “signifieth not dis- 
temper, but forebodeth woe.” 

“Alas, apoplexy for me!” 

“Mayhap, good matron,” consoled Dominus, 
as he had done for years. “As to myself, the 
tickling of my throat forebodeth paralysis.” 

“Mayhap, good prior!” in the same vein. 

“No fitter time for prayer,” asserted Domi- 
nus. 

In the oratory the three met and sat. What 
there by a layman might have been taken for 
a church organ was but a stand with hour- 
glasses of various sizes. 

10 


Unique Tales, 


Sternly said the divine to Rosette: “Through 
my exertions you learned all my prayers — their 
length and shortness, as to words. The period 
hath arrived when, my voice failing, yours is 
summoned. In Hour of Trial be the prayer of 
this hour. 

“How long, good matron, taketh it to roast 
the sand-birds?” 

“Half an hour, prior.” 

“Forty -four minutes until dinner, leaveth 
fourteen minutes for our prayer.” 

Rosette, poor child, indeed knew all his 
prayers, but understood them as little in her 
native language as in Latin. She was now 
further admonished : 

“Pray in English that your godmother may 
reap full benefit.” 

W ith her eyes on the turned fourteen-minute 
glass, Rosette proceeded, and in quickened 
tempo reached the end just w T hen the last grain 
of sand left the upper vessel. 

By this time Dominus was fast asleep. 

“Leave master to his thoughts,” said the 
f 11 


Unique T ales* 

housekeeper, “while we prepare dinner. Fetch 
the pail!” 

With its contents, sand, and a broom, the 
piece of corpulence shaped, on the kitchen floor, 
some figures resembling the curls of the prior’s 
wig; then sank into a peculiar appurtenance of 
that kitchen — her easy-chair. 

Thus enthroned she left, as usual, household 
cares to little Rosette, the silent sufferer. 

\, Silent, truly; resigned no longer. 

‘ A secret nestled in her heart, and Serafino, 
her pet dog, had scented the secret’s bearing 
upon his fate. 

That secret was a longing, as indefinite as 
the fragrance conveyed to her in the flowerless 
land from lands unknown, because beyond the 
sterile hills. 

The longing grew. Through prayer she 
might find relief. “Yea!” she reflected, “I’ll 
form a prayer of my own!” Which prayer, 
hardly uttered, brought to her side a Presence 
high and awful, yet of air benign; of gaze 
; which, though nor cold nor glowing, partook of 
12 


Unique Tales. 


these extremes ; clad in the glories of the sea- 
sons, wreaths of spring encircling all. 

“Your supplication pleases me, dear child,” 
said she, Dame Nature, and took her by the 
hand. 

The dog stared and whined. 

While the housekeeper endeavored to hush, 
the prior, at the other window, predicted woe, 
Rosette, leaving them to paralysis, apoplexy, 
and their devices, brushed by. 

“Poor Serafino! Well, well — one day you 
also may strike out, and we may meet again!” 
was her farewell greeting. 


IS 


Unique Tales* 


II. 

OUTSKIRTS OF SPRING. 

How Rosette overcame crags and crevices, 
and dreary stretches directly beyond the hills, 
a bird might tell, could it but be caught. 

With ever-increasing transports of joy, she 
had reached the land of her longing, and sang : 

“ Large is thy heart, 

O beautiful Spring.” 

These, however, were but meadows, the out- 
skirts of spring. 

Where was Rosette’s august companion? 
Everywhere. 

Confidently the young pilgrim wandered on. 

What joy, to breathe an air so balmy! 

Clear and serene, the sky imparted joy to 
her breast. 

Her steps, how nimble among flowers yellow, 
14 


Unique Tales* 

purple, pink and crimson, wafting in the midst 
of high-grown grasses. 

“How full of life and joy, all ! ?> exclaimed 
she, describing her own being. 

Blooming bushes began to enrich the scenery. 
Absorbed, she would delay here and there, 
then flit onward like a light-hearted bird. 

“What happiness to wander thus forever 1” 
was scarcely said, when she beheld from afar a 
being in appearance like herself, which upon 
approach revealed itself, amid a cluster of wild 
roses, all in bloom — as a stately rose tree with 
one bud. 

Presently the bud developed into blossom, 
and the full-blown, exquisite pink rose meekly 
observed Rosette. 

Speechless, enraptured, the child rested before 
the rose; then gave way to passionate addresses, 
■while her little arms and hands partly stretched 
forth, partly receded toward her own yearning 
heart. 

Her eyes still fixed upon the silent rose, Ro- 
sette again implored : 

U 


Unique T ales, 


“ Blessed I to be the maiden 

On whom first thine eye doth rest, 

’Mid the stillness of the meadow 
First thy fragrance is exprest. 

“ O may the eye thy glance now questions, 

Lovely Rose ! tell balm to thee ; 

The voice that these faint words addresses 
Strength impart to set thee free. 

“Rose of roses ! round thee gathered 
Are thy sisters, bloom-attired ; 

Roots they spread, and branch out idly. 

Not, like thee, for flight inspired. 

“ Light and shadow is their pleasure, 

Nod and napping their delight — 

Yet their sing-song how restricted 
With that brooklet just in sight. 

“White are daisies, swift the swallows, 

Green this grass — is all they know. 

Rose ! beyond that narrow brooklet 
Seas may rock, blue flowers grow ! 

O to see them ! What more precious 
Than with thee o’er lands to rove ! 

Spread thee not in roots and branches ; 

Lift thy foot, O Rose, and move !” 

Another pause — with lowered hands now 
clasped. 


16 


Unique Tales* 


“Spontaneous verse works wonders. I’ll in- 
dulge you!” said Dame Nature, visibly touch- 
ing with her wand the rose tree, which anon de- 
veloped into a blooming rose-maiden. 

Rosette flung her arms round Rose. Oh, 
how they pressed each other to their hearts, and 
sallied forth, over meadow and brook, in equal 
flight. For their Protectress had endowed Ro- 
sette with the attributes of the new-born Rose, 
and bestowed upon them the gift of buoyancy 
on land and in air and water. 

Although differing from elves and fairies, the 
rose-maidens had many traits in common with 
them, as the eluding of sight, hence dangers, in 
a country of verdure and bloom. 

Wreath and sash across the chest and girdle, 
which adorned the maidens, were living rose- 
branches — trophies — respected in the recesses 
now entered with increasing enjoyment. 

Large-hearted reception they met with every- 
where. 

Tidings brought from far off were greeted 
with sympathy, which, like an omnipresent 
17 


Unique Tales* 

spirit, reached each flower, however lowly ; each 
blade o’ grass. That none of them lived neg- 
lected was one of the lessons taught to the little 
wanderers. 

Where did they find food and shelter? 

No bird but would have them share both 
with it. 

Creepers suspended in mid-air heightened the 
effect of the tender foliage ; and upon gazing 
through such lacework into the blue sky, Rose 
and Rosette believed they beheld heaven. It 
was a vision of summer ; fulfillment of the prom- 
ise of spring. 

Their peregrinations over hill and dale were 
continued visits fraught with delight and conso- 
lation. Thus, once, descending, they were at- 
tracted by a beautiful blue flower, a- tremble 
from emotion. 

“Who art thou? ’ they asked. 

“A damsel woebegone.” 

“Thy name?” 

“Forget-me-not.” 

“What ails thee?” 


18 


Unique Tales* 

“I told hor what my name implies; yet am 
forgotten.’ * 

“Describe thy friend and her abode.” 
“Beyond yon intervening hill the light-blue 
butterfly lives in the Heart of Spring.” 


IS 


Unique Tales* 


III. 

NUPTIALS IN THE HEART OF SPRING. 

Toward that region Rose and Rosette re- 
paired. 

There perfect beauties of spring centered round 
a jewel of a pond ; and many insects playfully 
chased each other over its lucid water ; among 
them a pair of brilliant butterflies, light -blue 
their dominant color. 

The rose-maids forthwith reported the suffer- 
ing of the lonely forget-me-not. 

“Oh, she is a friend of mine, whom I fancy 
well enough ; but this my mate has a greater 
claim upon my pleasing companionship, and 
flights I prefer to reposeful attitudes.’ ’ 

“If you saw her, you would have pity on 
her.” 

“Unhappy people worry me indeed; so does 
this nearer, sad forget-me-not.” 

20 


/ 


Unique Tales. 

There, to be sure, stood near the bank, now 
reached by the flyers, another forget-me-not. 

‘ 1 What ails thee?” asked Rosette. 

“I die of love.” 

“For whom?” 

“For just an intellectual mate.” 

The rose-maids whispered to the butterfly. 

The butterfly flew off, and in due course of 
time returned, reporting: “My friend is well 
and will consider.” 

Then turning to the love-sick flower-in-blue, 
she said : 

“I think I have found a mate for thee.” 

The flower smiled and fixed the wedding day, 
which was no other than that selfsame day. 

The trumpet tree then blew Hurrah, and the 
liveliest commotion, beginning on the tender 
growths that encircled the pond, spread deeply 
into the woods. 

The happy hour, though not devoid of doubt, 
had arrived. 

Bustle yielded to solemnity. Fluttering was 
the only noise. 

2 * 


Unique Tales* 

Anon the blue butterfly rested the left wing 
lightly upon the forget-me-not; the other wing 
was just touched by an emerald dragonfly; 
larger insects joined, thus forming an ascend- 
ant semicircle. All mustered silently into 
line, at already considerable height enriched, 
by humming birds, finches, starlings, doves. 

The festivity having been prearranged, the 
distant hillside had pursued a corresponding 
course, started by the blue-winged friend, 
whose right leaned on the damsel Forget-me- 
not; and upward, until an oriole crowned, above 
the intervening hill, the fluttering rainbow. 

Upon a given sign the blue flower in the 
Heart of Spring tremulously whispered; and 
from neighbor to neighbor was passed, to the 
expectant Unseen, the whisper : 

“I love thee! Dost thou love me?” 

She had considered, and answered as firmly, 
as faintly : 

“Yes.” 

“Wilt thou accept me for an intellectual com- 
panion?” 


22 


Unique Tales. 


“Indeed and I will.” 

This, conclusive beyond a doubt, ended the 
ceremony; and great joy prevailed over the 
wedding of the forget-me-nots. 

The performers of the rainbow at once per- 
formed aerial quadrilles; and “lame ducks,” as 
in their high spirits they called rabbits, weasels, 
squirrels and the like, danced with turtles, liz- 
ards and each other in their own fashions to 
music of grasshoppers and crickets; of frogs in 
and outside of the pond; and of more or less 
melodious songsters. 

The chief messengers between the happy 
bride and bridegroom were the blue butterflies; 
also the rose-maidens flew on many an errand 
of love. 

The plan of bringing the lovers nearer to each 
other failed, through fear that the transplanted 
party might catch cold — a serious matter with 
flowers. 

Sometimes Rose and Rosette visited the 
farther woods, to the choicest recesses of which 
they were mostly borne by an ever-ready white 

23 


Unique Tales* 

stag and hind. Delightful as these excursions 
were, they always ended in returns to the pond 
with its poppies, rice plants, royal lilies, where, 
among diversified distractions, one happy day 
followed the other. 

A new visitor arrived one morning. It was 
a heron, who said: “I see a few nice fishes in 
this water, and occasionally catch one. Pleas- 
ing enough, also, are these scant flowers on 
land, and the scanter blossoms in the air. No 
wonder that nothing thrives under such a light. 
If you care for the blessings of a land, where 
all is sunshine and bloom, follow me to my 
home!” 


24 


Unique Tales* 


IV. 

THE HEART OF SUMMER. 

Such an allurement some could not resist, 
the rose-maids among them ; and after long, ex- 
pectant flight they landed in the Heart of Sum- 
mer, bathed in the moon’s mild light. 

Before turning to his nest, the heron said : 

“Here the moon sheds more heat than the 
sun in your land this with a smile of content- 
ment, maintained during their happy inter- 
course with him. 

While the others, with many an ejaculation 
of delight, scattered in all directions, Rose and 
Rosette sank upon mosses; and there, holding 
each other’s hands, listened, enraptured, to the 
nightingale’s songs in praise of the rhododen- 
drons and laurels which surrounded them. 

That most of the blossoms of these copious 
bushes, so white in the moonlight, glowed red 
25 


Unique Tales. 

in the morning, was a surprise. Well adapted 
was the richness of that hue to the wealth of 
colors displayed all around. 

Truly had his home been painted by the heron. 
There, under a glowing sun, a rapid brook im- 
parted life; luxuriant trees, coolness. Flowers, 
in numberless varieties, at the height of perfec- 
tion, beamed there as so many expressions 
of love. Within hearing of the brook, a 
spacious place was carpeted with mosses. En- 
shrined by tropical trees, it was the home of 
flowers of every description, as also of berry- 
bearing herbs, and here and there a shrub com- 
parable only with a nosegay. 

Countless birds frequented that grove, their 
songs and plumages contributing to the enchant- 
ing gayety. A choice resort with manifold di- 
versions, one surpassing the other; and after 
the heron had jumped rope — live vines which 
Rose and Rosette had been turning — he soared 
aloft, and with another happy smile looked 
down on the rose-maids following in less im- 
pulsive flight. 


26 


Unique Tales, 

Rose returned to the jonquil who had yet to 
complete her biography. 

Rosette steered her course for a marigold in 
order to learn a new history. 

Similar calls were daily occurrences; and the 
stories depicted perfect happiness, because the 
narrators were in the prime of happy life. 

After separate visits the tales were commented 
upon from the standpoint of roses. 

Of endless interest were the narrations of the 
laurel trees and rhododendrons, each growth 
with a pedigree. 

What a succession of blissful days and nights ! 

“Sweet is sleep; our waking-hours are sweeter — 
Awake, awake, to new delights of summer !” 

Full-toned songs, like this, gradually abated ; 
and the last sweet bird, a wren, sang thus: 

I weep. I mourn 
O’er passing summer. 

Stem with thorn — 

What sad newcomer. 

I mourn. I weep 
O’er what delighted. 

I long for sleep, 

All cheer benighted. 

27 


Unique Tales. 


Stem and thorn, 

Where rose-leaves shaded. 

Maid forlorn 
With blossom faded. 

Joys, joy flown, 

Songs, song must wither. 

Alone, alone 
On dying heather. 

The sadness of the song made Rose shiver and 
long to see her sisters, whereto her companion 
consented. 

Sad were Rosette and Rose over the melan- 
choly of the beloved wren. They flew to it and 
surprised it by the consolation, that there were 
a South and other summers. 

Thereupon it started with a merry chirp 
toward that blessed country; while the rose- 
maidens hied over formerly traversed grounds ; 
and so true were their instincts that, in spite 
of dense mists, they reached Rose’s native field 
at midnight. 

Rosette at once settled to sleep. 

Rose, upon beholding her drooping sisters, 
fell also asleep; but hers was the sleep of death. 

28 


Unique Tales. 


Ere fairly awake, Rosette fancied the wren’s 
song to be acted out on herself ; but before hav- 
ing time for alarm (so sympathetic is Dame 
Nature!) the survivor became aware of a pres- 
ence near her — a boy beaming with spirits, 
who, tendering his hand, said: “Offspring of 
a winter rose am I — Montrose by name. Mourn 
not my valley friend, but gone to sleep, from 
which she will awake next spring, re-braced.” 


29 


Unique Tales. 


Y. 

AUTUMN AND WINTER. 

To Rostock, who had been Rosette, he spoke : 
For, to adapt the maiden to the new wild com- 
panion, Dame Nature had transformed her into 
a youth; and, with outcries of delight, the two 
rushed forth over wolds, through woods. 

Pervaded by Montrose’s wild spirit, also Ros- 
tock let deer and fox pass unmolested, as too 
tame for consideration. 

In mountain caves, in valley caverns, the 
youths were recognized as masters. Compan- 
ionships like these were all-sufficient to them. 

To gratify exuberance, many a precipice was 
scaled on wing or on foot. 

When a sea breeze touched them on a clear 
autumn day, their impetuous speed was main- 
tained until the shore of an ocean was reached. 

30 


Unique Tales* 

Montrose forthwith dashed into the foaming 
spray. 

Rostock recoiled, partly because it was night. 

Almost threatening seemed the gestures of 
Montrose. Rostock plunged in after him, and 
they proceeded merrily. 

They felt one with the element. 

Only when land was out of sight, Montrose 
said: “Let us take a rest.” 

Floating, they watched a couple of albatrosses, 
and paddled toward them unperceived. 

The sun ascended from the ocean, and phos- 
phorescence subsided into wonderful glows. 

With the exultant feeling that the world was 
created for themselves, Montrose seized, and 
swung himself unto, one of the albatrosses. 

Rostock, again admonished, followed his ex- 
ample. “Spurs and reins like thorns!” 
screeched the large birds. 

Thus the rose-youths took another rest. 

Both were carried above the highest rocks. 

Espying eagles, Montrose guided his albatross 
to the steep cliff where they nested. 

31 


Unique Tales* 

Rostock’s bird drew reluctantly nearer, but 
was also forced forward. 

By this time the species and size of the eagles 
could be determined: They were formidable 
golden eagles. 

On a large nest they perched, stunned by as- 
tonishment. 

To pounce on the larger, and subdue him, was 
Montrose’s work of a moment. 

Rostock no less overpowered the mother-bird, 
after furious resistance. 

Still greater ascendency had the youths 
gained after having averted a deadly combat 
between the eagles and albatrosses. 

The birds were warned to remain friendly; 
which promised, all four received a liberal por- 
tion of petting, and the mutual affection grew 
to the extent that the rose -youths were allowed 
to sleep in the eagle’s nest containing five eggs. 

Three rests, close upon each other! Lazy 
urchins, were they not? 

Montrose, however, slept with one eye open. 

Furthermore, at dawn the albatrosses invited 

33 


Unique Tales* 


the youths to another ride. This, Montrose 
declined, as he desired to exercise his own wings. 

With mutual protestations of love and esteem, 
they parted, the spirited flight of Montrose be- 
ing watched with curiosity. 

Rostock, still on the edge of the cliff, flapped 
his wings like a newly fledged bird ; took heart, 
and joined the friend’s sail toward a densely 
wooded district. 

For a long time they maintained unnecessary 
heights. 

“The higher we soar,” said Montrose, “the 
more are we part of the elements.” 

When the forest lay underneath them they 
darted into its dead branches and buried leaves. 

Then Montrose shook hands with his compan- 
ion, declaring him to be a youth after his own 
heart. 

Their life in these woods during winter was 
well adapted to their singular natures. 

The forest swarmed with ferocious beasts, all 
of whom yielded to these fierce, yet friendly 
youths. 


33 


Unique Tales. 

Through such close intercourse Eostock also 
became acquainted with the mysteries of ani- 
mal- life. The caves were wonders suited to the 
tales there told. 

What the youths avoided, was shelter. Ex- 
posed to the wildest snowstorms, they felt in 
their element; and the beasts, trembling in 
comparative security, often heard by night 
shouts of delight amid breaking branches. No 
wonder they bowed to the indomitable rose- 
youths ! 


The intense cold abruptly subsisded. 

A few more days, and the icicles on the trees 
began to weep. Montrose looked solemn. His 
buoyancy was not quite as of old. So he 
mounted a boar ; Rostock the nearest beast on 
hand, a jackal ; and these were hurried through 
the forest. At its border the youths spread their 
wings, steering direct for the Eagle-cliff with 
its invigorating storm -winds. 

The ascent of Montrose being unprecedentedly 
labored, Rostock checked his flight accordingly. 

34 


Unique Tales. 


The five eggs had by this time developed into 
formidable young eagles. Forth from five beaks 
there suddenly arose the cry: “Parents! fly- 
ing porcupines are approaching !” 

Father and mother at once bid a smiling re- 
ception, and silence and self-control up to a 
given moment, as those strong birds had nursed 
them in their nest and were benefactors in 
general. 

The rose-youths had a fine reception ; suspi- 
ciously so, thought Montrose, seeing the hosts 
in such broad smiles. 

“Where are my albatrosses?’ * he demanded 
harshly. 

“Just on a fishing expedition.” 

“You have not ill-treated them, I trust,” 
was retorted; “or I should twist the neck of 
each one of you,” with a voice feigning tem- 
per, but really weak from exhaustion. 

To Rostock he whispered, thereby causing 
him to change color : 

“On account of waning strength my heart is 
breaking. Betray me not, or you are lost, for 
35 


Unique Tales* 

without my inciting co-operation you could 
not cope with these seven.’ * 

“Is this cutting air still wanting in sharp- 
ness?” whispered the other; “why not dive into 
the Heart of Winter?” 

“Too late — too late. Support me, keeping 
close to me.” 

Without much ado Rostock threw himself 
upon a parent eagle ; and Montrose just man- 
aged to mount the other. 

Both eagles were kept so close together, that 
Montrose remained within reach of his friend. 

Only too glad seemed the birds, not to be 
spurred on toward the sea for an audience with 
the albatrosses. 

“Whither are you reining?” asked Rostock. 

“To the home of my forefathers.” 

And there, on the yet bleak mountain, the 
winged bearers were discharged ; and Montrose, 
reclining on one of the hillocks within a square 
inclosure formed by low cedars, muttered : “Go 
forth, good friend ! to the most beautiful Rose in 
the blooming Valley of Spring, with the mes- 
36 


Unique Tales. 

sage — sad and strange — that my last thoughts — 
encompassed — her. ’ ’ 

Rostock tore himself off. 

While descending, he became possessed of a 
singular light-heartedness, and felt himself un- 
dergoing a change, as yet but vague. 

Already had he set foot upon tracts bestrewn 
with verdure, whose richness increased on his 
downward path. 

How mild, how sweet the air! Appreciably 
more so as he proceeded into the Valley of 
Spring — one field of young flowers, a world of 
fragrancy bathed in the rays of the sun. 

And fairer than ever, the wild Rose of Spring 
there met and embraced — Rosette, again trans- 
muted from Rostock into the former rose- 
maiden, which restoration she welcomed. 

The message of Montrose was received with 
faint sadness and blush. 

Dame Nature, no doubt, felt rewarded for in- 
dulging the roses, who, thanks to her indul- 
gence, performed their beautiful plays. 


37 


Unique Tales* 


VI. 

ANOTHER SPRING AND A HOME. 

Joy again pervaded the maidens. The past 
was forgotten, the joyful present all, all to 
them. 

After having enjoyed the greater part of 
spring in the valley, their strolls over smiling 
hills were unexpectedly brought to a standstill 
by a human habitation. 

A small triangular patch of grass, protected 
by chains suspended from three granite pillars, 
adorned the foreground; and the rose-maids, 
overawed by the strangeness of all this, would, 
no doubt, have flown away to the free country, 
had not the artistic arrangement of plants in a 
vase, within that green inclosure, fascinated 
them. 

And furthermore a sound like a shrill bark — 
38 


Unique Tales* 

* 1 This surely is my Serafino!” exclaimed Ro- 
sette. 

Both listened. 

Rosette had loved her little dog; and that 
love now returned. 

A faint, whining sound was now heard — in 
the direction of other quarters, sheltered by an 
old wall, only then observed on the right; a 
narrow lane, darkened by the height of the 
wall, ran alongside of it until withdrawn from 
sight by some descent. 

The wall was compact except for a small 
wooden door. 

On the spur of the moment Rosette had rung 
the bell ; and with throbbing heart both waited. 

Anon the door flew open by means of a wire 
contrivance wrought by some figure on the up- 
per steps leading into a low, solid, brownstone 
manor. 

Or were there two somebodies? 

Although not distant, they could not yet be 
discerned, owing to the evening twilight. 

“Are you not here, my dear Serafino?” 

39 


Unique Tales. 

“Not a bit!” a voice on the upper landing, 
immediately echoed from a side of the wall- 
inclosed garden, which, extending from the 
right, made a turn behind the manor. 

“No?” still questioned the maidens, prone to 
turn hack. 

But the thick door had flung to with a bang. 

They hesitated, yet felt themselves allured to 
the stairs — the platform. 

And there Rose beheld the first human be- 
ings, so tranecendently lovely, so touchingly 
attractive, that she at once yielded to their 
caresses, the same as Rosette. 

Two little, frail widows in black these were, 
each with lovely, oval face, and blue eyes ex- 
pressive of love and sadness. 

Thus resembling each other, they could 
neither be denoted as the older nor the younger, 
because they were twins. 

Their combined age of one hundred and 
eighty-five years was not extraordinary in that 
family. 

However, their names are sufficiently dis- 
40 


Unique Tales, 


tinct for written records, showing Jane to 
have been the mother of a son ; Eliza a daugh- 
ter’s mother. 

“Didn’t I tell you?” asked the latter; a ques- 
tion echoed in the background. 

“Not a bit!” her sister’s answer, repeated in 
some darker distance. 

But why these tears in mother Eliza’s sweet 
eyes? 

While Jane, with all the ardor feebleness 
could command, caressed Rose; Eliza, draw- 
ing Rosette toward her heart, asked for her 
name. 

“Rosette.” 

“Didn’t I tell you!” This assurance, tri- 
umphantly uttered over and again, was joined 
by the mysterious voice in the same joyous 
accents. 

This time Jane did not contradict. 

Coincidence here sweetened life. Rosette was 
indeed the name of Eliza’s daughter, who had 
married, died, been bemourned, forgotten, save 
only as a child. Her hood, in mother Eliza’s 
41 


Unique Tales* 

toilet box, had revived but such memories; ob- 
livion of the rest was just as well. The little 
girl’s return had confidently been expected ; and 
there she was, fresh like a rose, adorned with 
rose-leaf garlands. 

The tender treatment wrought sensations so 
blissful to the maidens that they were per- 
suaded to delay. Neither of them had known 
a mother. To receive a mother’s affection — one 
as actual, the other as adopted daughter — that 
was a charm of power incalculable. 

With the same fascinating solicitude, the 
mothers endeavored to interest them in many 
curiosities in the house. 

The daughters then repaired to bed — to Rose 
an entirely, to Rosette a comparatively new ex- 
perience. 

A more appropriate apartment could not have 
been assigned to them. Brilliant tapestry de- 
picted tropical forest scenes; and furniture: 
large, elegantly curved leaves of light and 
lighter green, forth from which burst flowers 
gaudy almost like a sun. 

42 


Unique Tales# 

But now to sleep on scented pillows soft as 
down! 


Thus bedded, they slumbered till, at dawn, 
awakened by songs and shrieks, yelps and 
howls, as if tenants of forests and deserts were 
within the garden walls. 

Such was indeed the case ! 

The corner room gave on both sides of the 
garden ; and each maiden gazing out of separate 
windows expressed to the other her astonish- 
ment at the sights. 

Lined all along the rectangular wall were 
cages filled with superb animals — a veritable 
menagerie. 

Spirited morning songs or yet loud laments 
were theirs. 

Before the lion had roared forth to the sun the 
cruelty of his fate, a voice had shrieked to the 
maidens: “Good-morning! Didn’t I tell you?” 

“So the parrot was the rogue last night!” 
said Rose. 


43 


Unique Tales* 

“Not a bit!” croaked the raven, claiming 
part of the roguery for himself. 

The favorite expressions of the widows had 
evidently been caught by the birds. 

Alternating avenues of trees, grass-plots, 
flower-beds, presented a pleasing garden, within 
which bloomed another garden in a conserva- 
tory so exuberantly filled with plants and fruits 
that they seemed to uphold its glass dome. 

Pleasantly animated by this concentration of 
animal and vegetable kingdoms, the visitors 
flitted into the breakfast room, where the 
mothers were awaiting, and rapturously em- 
braced them. In this household all were early 
risers. 

There was the marked difference between 
supper and breakfast table, that at supper luke- 
warm milk, and lady-fingers were served; at 
breakfast lukewarm milk and little swan-necks 
— both of the same biscuit consistency, but of 
shapes as indicated by the names. 

Then it also came to light that, like his father 
and uncle, Jane’s son Theobald, called Theo, 
44 


Unique Tales. 


was a great zoologist, botanist — in short, nat- 
uralist — who, in the course of years, had, for 
purposes of his own, collected the beasts caged 
in the garden; many a capture entailing a stir- 
ring adventure, as indeed did the obtainment of 
plants. Short were Theo’s stays at home, most 
of his time being spent on exploring expeditions. 
His returns were mother Jane’s days of balm, 
only disturbed by the apprehension of new de- 
parture. Theo’s last absence was of particu- 
larly long duration, harder than ever to bear by 
a mother strong in love, however otherwise en- 
feebled. 

“Oh, return soon, darling Theo!” had his 
mother said at the last parting. “Do tell me at 
what time you will return?” 

To this Theo, hastening away, had jocosely 
repl ied : “At three o’ clock. ’ ’ 

“At three?” she asked with earnestness. 

“Oh, yes,” his light answer; “as soon as all 
my animals make friendship with each other 
and the household people.” 

Deeper, the longer the darling remained ab- 
45 


Unique Tales* 

sent, became the impression wrought by these 
playful words. 


The old ladies now settled down to a play at 
dominos, their only game. It was their custom 
to call out the number required from the part- 
ner. 

The rose-maids looked on amused. 

“Six!” called out mother Jane. 

After a remarkably long pause mother Eliza 
matched six and challenged four. 

Jane supplied that number and called for 
blank. 

Blank matched, Eliza enunciated “Three!” 

Hastily mother Jane arose, left the room, and 
waited for a long time on the stoop for her son’s 
ring of the bell. 

Crestfallen, her “Not a bit” scarcely audi- 
ble, she returned and rang the bell on the mo- 
saic table. 

A white-aproned maid servant asked for her 
pleasure. 


46 


Unique Tales* 

“ Bring us tear-kerchiefs !” said her mistress. 
“We are weeping. ” 

Eliza, to be sure, wept too; but more for 
company’s sake, since she had found her 
daughter. 

Presently silken kerchiefs were presented on 
a waiter. 

Fastidious ladies were these mothers ; as neat 
and nice as any of the dainty sex. 

On that day the game was not resumed. 

When, later on, the daughters joined in the 
play, they knew no better but that, as soon as 
“three” was reached, the game was ended. That 
number called, poor mother Jane, “three 
o’clock ” in mind, invariabty started on her 
hopeless errand to the outside stairs. 

At dinner there were served milk, eggs and 
menagerie-crackers, the various forms of which 
Jane arranged and moved on the tablecloth 
somewhat like chessmen, while mumbling: 
“As soon as all his animals make friendship 
with each other and the household people, he 
will return.” 


47 


Unique Tales, 


Eliza squashed the tiger under her milk- 
bowl, ejaculating: “Horrid creature !” 

“Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo !” 

“Three o’clock!” cried Jane, and went, and 
returned. 

“Not a bit!” protested her sister and the 
raven ; and they were right, because that coun- 
terfeit cuckoo-clock struck three at any hour it 
pleased the caged cuckoo to intonate his song, 
while the real clock mouldered in the garret. 

After dinner it was the duty of an East In- 
dian to report to the ladies. 

Languidly, they listened to him as they 
would to an organ-grinder ; they knew so well 
the song of Alec; a man in his best years, of 
picturesque appearance, the blackness of eye 
and beard well contrasting with his many-col- 
ored array. 

On him devolved the charge of the animals 
and the task of reconciling them to each other. 

Successful in but a few instances, disap- 
pointed in many, he bad lost all vim and drifted 
away from the desired end. 

48 


Unique Tales- 


That perseverance is needed by a trainer, he 
was testing on himself ; for, after unrelenting 
kindness had endeared Theo to him, he now, in 
the absence of his master, felt a revival of 
grudge against Theo for having captured him 
in the jungle with a lasso. 

Hence the intention of an exit on Theo’s re- 
turn. 

Meanwhile his station pleased him well 
enough; more even since the advent of the 
Roses, so called in the manor, who seemed to 
stir his energies, as was at first perceived by 
some animation in his report : 

“Lion and lamb, both in one cage, my ladies! 
continue friendly. Jaguar and panther, how- 
ever, are at odds. Like friends they played to- 
gether. The jaguar then retired into his cage. 
The jaguar, said I? Not so. The jaguar, less 
his tail, caught in the tight spring wire door. 
Like an ex-friend the tail was anon belabored 
by the panther, and could only be extricated by 
main force.” 

“Watch, appease, and report!” said Lady 
49 


Unique Tales* 

Jane, with two smiles for one frown, the smiles 
shared by the others. 


The garden was a relief to the rose-maids. 

Rose called the manor a hollow ; the garden, 
owing to its high old wall, a cave. All seemed 
to her so compressed, so strange ; bearable by 
virtue of that strangeness and the liberal ‘ ‘air- 
hole,’ ’ which was the sky, admitting fresh 
breaths into the cave. 

After having gone the rounds of the cages, 
the Roses, always eagerly watched, would rest 
on one or the other of the rustic benches; and 
the roaring, intended for their ears, had an en- 
dearing sound; for the beasts loved the children 
of Nature ; indeed, these seemed to exercise a 
soothing influence on that brute world. 

Without reminiscences, Rosette’s glance 
strayed from the eagle to the neighboring peli- 
can, while a flower bed sometimes awakened 
indistinct recollections. 


By liberal admission of air, required by ward 
50 


Unique Talcs, 


and daughter, the dear old ladies, hitherto so 
timid of draughts, profited visibly. Their desire 
to please was more manifest on rainy days, 
when, without saying much, they listened to 
the spirited conversation, only in part intelli- 
gible to them. Sometimes they inserted one of 
the few remembered sayings which, even mis- 
applied, amused themselves and were suggest- 
ive to the Roses. 

The haggard hands now grasped, then 
stroked, and tender eyes endeavored to engage 
young glances of affection. 

Fossils, antlers, botanical rarities were 
shown; treasure boxes were displayed, appre- 
ciated. 

Before a glass-globe filled with flowers, whose 
cut stems appeared magnified in the water, Rose 
changed color, and explained that the sight of 
mangled flowers hurt her. 

None of that kind again adorned the mantel- 
piece. 

“From our wax flowers,” was rejoined, 
“you did not shrink.” 


51 


Unique Tales* 

“ Because,’ * answered Rose, “statuettes are 
to our liking.* * 

This so pleased the ladies that they hence- 
forth often moulded wax after live plants in 
fancy flowerpots, the rose-maids admiringly 
watching the exquisite process; and what they 
admired became gifts for them. 

Their rose-leaf interwoven attire somewhat 
disturbed Eliza. 

“We wear weeds; they, leaves,” said Jane. 

“True enough,*’ said Eliza, an Echo empha- 
sizing the remark. 


Dominos were played no more without the 
Roses. 

Alec resumed his report : 

“The story of the jaguar’s tail, caught in the 
wire door, my ladies, has a sequel : Again I 
forced the two to play together; like friends 
they played. The panther’s onslaught 
seemed forgottten until the jaguar made his 
exit — headforemost not again. To save his tail 
he backed into the spring door ; clinched were 
52 


Unique Tales. 


jiis fists, his smiles how lavish, while he, 
slowly backed and safely backed into his cage, 
whither the r^er, being larger, could not fol- 
low to renew the play.” 

Eliza looked at Jane, Rosette at Rose. 
Their *\miles turned into laughter. Offended, 
Alec withdrew. 

Then only occurred to him the ludicrous ^art 
of the game; and he was found, holding his 
sides, by the maid servant, who hurried to be 
on hand. The clock was striking three. 

But Alec had an important report to deliver. 
After Lady Jane’s return from the stoop, he 
was again admitted, and reported: “By un- 
tiring observation, my ladies ! I discovered the 
enmity between wolf and lynx to be one-sided. 
Therefore, I gave to the lynx more than his 
due, and left him oversatiated in the corner, 
four neatly dressed legs of mutton just within 
his reach. I then withdrew the partition, when 
against him flew the hungry wolf. Meeting, 
beyond a snarl, no opposition, he grasped tho 
nearest tidbit; a second one; devoured another 
53 


Unique Tales* 

leg and still another; then, like the lynx, with- 
drew into his quarter’s farthest corner, both 
ogling, snarling at each other — nothing more. 
I closed the cages. This, yesterday. To-day 
I brought them together, unfed. No doubt the 
wolf had taken the four mutton legs for a peace 
offering. Both beasts are now fast friends, 
thanks to my strategy.” 

“This news,” said Lady Jane, “is reassur- 
ing. Your skill will doubtless be rewarded by 
your master.” 

“Our progress, madam, is impeded by the 
royal tiger.” 

“The horrid beast!” interjected Lady Eliza. 

“Alone, confronted with each other, lion and 
tiger are on good terms. Separate them, usher 
the lamb ” 

“The darling little snow-white lamb!” 

“Usher the lamb into the lion’s cage, and the 
tiger’s frenzy is beyond description. The lamb 
he cannot suffer outside of himself; the lion he 
wants to kill as its protector. Woe, woe to 
beast or man at such a time within the royal 
tiger’s grasp!” 


54 


Unique Tales. 

“Words unworthy of a tamer,” retorted 
Lady Jane. 

“Consider, madam, that his hatred against 
me, connected with his capture, is uncommon. 
I knew this tiger’s den. I knew his predilec- 
tion for man’s calf. The knowledge that there 
exist artificial eyes, legs and what not, sug- 
gested to me an aggravation of my calves. 
Thus provided, I, as if unconscious of his near- 
ness (for who would so quietly turn the back 
to such a monster?) I challenged him. He 
was upon me with a furious bound, burying 
his teeth into my artificial calf, whereupon I 
took to my heels, all the time spending the 
tape, which unwound itself as from a roller. 

“This calf,” argued the tiger, “is obviously 
part of the man;” while master easily flung 
the ” 

“Butterfly catcher,” rebuked Lady Eliza. 

“Exactly,” humored Alec, half -perplexed— 
“flung the net over, and captured him. And 
the tiger never forgave me.” 

Unmoved as the recital had left the Roses, 
5 * 


Unique Tales 

mother Eliza’s irony moved them to hearty 
merriment. 

Mother Jane remained absorbed in a scheme 
of her own. 


Unique Tales* 


VII. 

WHAT A VENTURE! 

While a storm of almost equinoctial char- 
acter betokened the wane of summer, the 
rose -maids fashioned, under affectionate guid- 
ance, their maiden wax flowers, first and last 
touches to which consumed quite a number 
of pleasurable days. 

Neglecting the animals, Alec studied in his 
apartment a map of Australia, mistaken for 
one of Asia. All with a view to deserting. 

The old gardener’s chief occupation was rest; 
the young maid-servants’, gossip within closed 
doors. 

Under these circumstances the field was clear 
for the accomplishment of good mother Jane’s 
design. 

As Alec, with his long-distance iron hook 
57 


Unique Tales. 

and poker, was deemed a coward and a liar, 
she herself must pluck up courage and effect 
reconciliation between the animals, whereby 
Theo would be led back into her arms. 

Softer than ever were her steps, now directed 
toward the farther cages; yet she could not 
elude the many watchful eyes of the animals. 

“Good -morning!” said the parrot, although 
it was afternoon — an anachronism no doubt 
learned in a land where an afternoon perform- 
ance is called matinee. 

The beasts, passed without the usual salute, 
looked after her in surprise. 

The huge tiger stopped his tramp when 
catching her searching eyes. 

King of the desert, erect though reposing, 
changed his distant gaze into a look most 
close. 

Without misgiving Jane climbed into the 
cage of the lamb. 

The little pet approached her and was told : 
“You are so sweet; look soon your sweetest.” 

Her kindly touch, her soothing voice pleased 
58 


Unique Tales* 

the lamb; and presently the lion begged for his 
share. 

Jane unbarred, left that inner door wide open, 
and gently laid her arms around the lion; he 
was so big that there was much to pet. 

“Continue good,” she said, “and all of us 
will yet be happy.” 

Peculiar contortions underwent the lion’s 
muzzle ere clearly enunciating “Good 
mamma.” 

Then he settled in a posture of comfort. 

The lamb reposed on a couch in its cage. 

Jane, seated near the lion on a footstool for a 
little rest and reflection, was soon attracted by 
the royal tiger. Rolling and purring he 
seemed to invite the frail little lady in black to 
visit him. 

So she unbolted, bolted, and was with 
him. 

The giant tiger behaved toward her much 
like a pleased kitten ; and the visitor returned 
his endearments, whispering to him that the 
lamb was beloved everywhere, and that the 
59 


Unique Tales. 

tiger would be admired and loved by man and 
beast if be protected the lamb with the lion. 

The animal listened attentively. 

His mood seemed to warrant a trial. The 
tail still wagged, affection was still expressed 
by eye and purr. 

Precious time must not be lost. But while 
she went to the iron door in order to unite the 
three, the lamb approached her, the lion keep- 
ing pace. In an instant the tiger became a 
terror of first magnitude. By the force of his 
onslaught the heavy bars were bent where 
mother Jane had just stood. 

The lamb was safe — was she? 

Lion and lamb as yet engaged the frantic 
tiger. 

Egress to the garden was barred. No matter 
with what danger, she must retreat through 
the cage occupied by the large brown bear, 
Bruno. 

While busy with that bolt, the thoughts 
crossed her mind, that she could not yet be 
spared; that her son might marry, and who 
GO 


Unique T ales. 

would then take care of his children and 
children’s children? 

Safely in Bruno’s domain, she found him to 
be a respecter of manners and age. Simply 
lovely was his behavior. Stroke her he did; 
even danced with her until she said : “Enough, 
dear child! though I’m less old than thou 
thinkest.” 

He then smilingly petted her on the back, 
most excellent Bruno did; and virtually as- 
sisted the dear lady in unbolting the door for 
herself and bolting it for himself. 

Turning toward him on the lawn she saw 
him, the right paw over his heart, still smiling 
upon her. 

“ You are a very good boy !” she said to him. 

To the growling tiger, with ears still thrust 
back and teeth still gnashing, she said: “Just 
as wicked as wicked can be.” 


When Jane entered the drawing room the 
wax statuettes had developed admirably. In 
spite of that enjoyable pastime Rosette had 
61 


Unique Tales. 

quite missed her aunt. “ I will tend her more 
steadily,” the child said to herself ; “for both 
she and mother are in great need of my serv- 
ices.” 

Not that Rose had been unmindful; but 
whatever were Rosette’s abnormal attributes, 
in Rose they prevailed in a higher degree. 

As to the conditions for Theo’s return, no 
member of the household took mother Jane’s 
view seriously. 

On the next day Alec interrupted the game 
at dominos. 

“In spite of unceasing care, my ladies — ” 

“In future,” said Lady Jane, with unusual 
sternness, “only progress is to be reported. 
Keep all in order; and as results can only be 
produced by visits in the cages, use this (hand- 
ing him a purse) for purchase of iron mask and 
armor to shield your person on the battle 
fields.” 

Friendly union of the animals she no longer 
expected. However, there remained “Three 
o’clock,” in other words — Hope. 

62 


Unique Tales. 


VIII. 

ANOTHER HOME. 

Summer had to yield to autumn, and with 
summer Rose appeared to fade. 

A wild alarm seized all, and, bathed in tears, 
Rosette addressed Dame Nature: 


“ Mother, mother, Mother Nature, 

Look upon this lovely maid ! 

Wan her cheek, rose-wreath though fading, 
Call her not beyond your aid. 

“ Of the myriads on the meadows 
Her you chose to wander round, 

To encourage and enlighten 
Whom in darkness she there found. 

M Birds in need of you she tended ; 

Fishes owed their rescue to 
Her hand ; embarrassed deer she guided, 
Saving all to worship you. 

63 


Unique T ales* 

“ And the rambles, flights and swimming 
Of this child of Nature were 
Ecstasies which in a measure 
With your favorite you did share. 

“ Enjoy with her your bracing winter, 

Muff and wrister and chilblain ; 

Let her see ghosts of rose-sisters 
On the freezing window-pane ! 

“ And when snowflakes, tired of dancing 
With shrill winds, rest on the earth. 

Let her, joyous of their pleasures. 

Doubly value this warm hearth. 

‘ * Mother ! surely of these blessings 
You will not your child deprive — 

Mother, mother, Mother Nature, 

Hear my prayer, O save her life 1” 

‘‘Spontaneous combustions like these, dear 
child! are pleasing.’ ’ In melodious voice she, 
in whose raiment glorious tints of autumn pre- 
dominated, continued: “Your playmate shall 
be saved on two conditions. ” 

“Oh, name them, good Dame Nature !” 

“That of attributes of a wild rose you be 
dr vested.” 

“Willingly; so she but live. ,, 

64 


Unique Tales. 


“Have Rose transferred to the adjacent green- 
house, where in artificial summer she will pros- 
per, provided she continue missionary work,” 
which said, the Power vanished. 

Rosette, of rose leaves shorn, then felt like 
any child that has not been a rose ; and what 
she lost she gained in other ways. 

With warmth, enchanting the good mothers, 
she revealed to them the secret of Rose. 

Presently all thoughts were directed to the 
object neglected by all save the venerable 
gardener, the conservatory. Who, indeed, 
would during the hot season, with plenty of 
choice garden flowers in the open air, have 
thought of entering a hothouse? Nobody less 
than Rose and Rosette. 

At the glass door the gardener met them with 
a shake of the head, indicating that he could 
make no success of the plants. 

“What ails them?” asked Rose. 

“Too much or too little of everything.” 

“Maybe a secret sorrow,” said Rose. 
“Leave me alone with them, good friends.” 

65 


Unique Tales* 

When she entered, and all the flowers turned 
their countenances toward her, she perceived 
them to be troubled, because they were not fair. 

Aware that flowers are rather quintessence 
of love, than of thought, she addressed these in 
accordance with their reasoning powers. 

“Why art thou unhappy?’ ’ 

“I die in envy of my neighbor, owing to the 
fragrancy which she exhales,” whined a 
double, black-eyed Susan. 

“Just reflect on thy stature as compared with 
the lowness of the violet.” 

And Susan reasoned it all out, and became 
happy, hence beautiful. 

So did the violet, who, through blind jeal- 
ousy, never once had thought of her own ex- 
quisite advantage. 

The enthusiastic outcry followed : 

“We have an Apostle of Nature among us, 
well worth listening to.” 

Such indeed Rose proved to be, reconciling 
all of them thus removed from the direct influ- 
ence of Nature. 


66 


Unique Tales, 


Azaleas and cinerarias, who had even envied 
the ivy for being no flower at all, again beamed 
with joy. The maid-of-the-mist, inconsolable 
no longer that she were not bathed in genuine 
mist, doubly appreciated the beauty of the deli- 
cate verdure which enshrined her, a picture of 
prettiness. No flower but bloomed at her 
best ; begonias spread their leaves to the fullest, 
myrtles, oleanders, their pride how becoming! 
Lemon tree, orange tree, erect like the palms 
that only bent to the glass roof’s bidding. 

At the sight of all this magnificence the gar- 
dener stood like one transfixed ; then crossed 
himself, and mumbling something about “sur- 
vival of the fittest,” and constellations, betook 
himself to the fire house with its ovens and 
water tanks, where he devoted himself to sup- 
plying the conservatory during the cold months. 

He looked through one of its panes when reg- 
ulating the heat, even at the outside fearful of 
the charm connected with that fairy palace. 

In its temperate air Rose had soon recov- 
ered ; and she flourished with flowers for com- 
67 


Unique Tales* 

panions, juicy tropical fruits for food, and vel- 
vet cushions for comfort. Under her care each 
plant gloried in its existence, and thus sprang 
forth wonderful tales of happiness, unrepeat- 
able where only a short tale may be told within 
a long one. 

Rosette had lost — and did not miss — the gift 
of understanding the language of flowers. 
Rose she loved, but with another love. Rosette 
loved flowers and loved Rose as a flower. 
Aware that her friend was perfectly happy 
alone with the thriving flowers, her visits be- 
came less frequent. 

So much the more assiduous was her care of 
the dear old mothers. 

From day to day these had hoped for a 
change of the icy weather in order to pay a 
visit to the beloved Rose. 

The moon, the stars shone brightly; some- 
what relenting seemed the cold, when mother 
Jane said: “To-morrow we must surely see 
dear Rose.” 

Eliza meekly protested, then consented. 

68 


Unique Tales* 

Rosette begged to consult Copernicus, the 
weather prophet. 

The gardener felt highly honored by such 
calls, to which he responded in Sunday attire. 
Reverentially he said: “A northern snow- 
storm will carry the day.” 

Rosette begged for delay. 

Sadly Jane then said: “I shall not sleep a 
wink till I have seen her.” 

So all agreed, fair weather or foul. 

Lo! What weather! The lower the mer- 
cury, the higher the storm-swept snow. 

“Dear mothers, wait!” 

“ Ever delay, 

And lose the day,” 

sang the mothers cheerfully, and enveloped 
themselves in one set of furs after the other, 
until the wardrobe was as empty as momen- 
tarily the way to the hothouse was cleared of 
snow. 

And when the dear ladies crossed over, thej', 
their lovely faces hidden by tenfold thick- 
nesses, looked like Eskimos with a vengeance; 

69 


Unique Tales* 

and the caged beasts looked at them, astounded 
— the polar bear, with an expression so sad that 
it might have been attributed to homesick- 
ness; a peculiar kind of snowbirds gave them 
a startled look. 

A jubilee, a day of bliss unrivaled this was 
in the fragrant, the blooming summer house! 

Nectar was served and ambrosia. 

The guests returned and were no worse for 
the adventure ; however, the furs were packed 
away for the winter. 


Storms and bright days interchanged with 
each other; yet the brightness was but cold. 

The wand of spring, would it never be 
wafted? 

Impatiently was Copernicus summoned. 

“Tell us, when will green-house temperature 
prevail out-of-doors?” 

“Daytime is unfavorable for prophecy. 
Night sky willing, lifelong practice shall 
assert itself to-morrow.” 


70 


Unique Tales. 

The night drew near; clouds too, they scat- 
tered ; clear became the atmosphere. 

Next day Copernicus declared: 

“ May the first: 

Day the first 

Of hothouse temperature.” 

“Six weeks to wait? Good gardener, make 
it shorter.” 

“Impossible. Barometer, and stars, and 
rosary agree.” 

“Which gives us time for preparation, and 
if your prophecy comes true, a high honor shall 
be conferred upon you.” 

The gardener doubted not, and took reveren- 
tial leave. 


71 


Unique Tales. 


IX. 

NEW DEPARTURES. 

Behold the first of May arisen like a mira- 
cle! The sun spread greenhouse air; birds, 
visiting the green and blooming garden, were 
full of songs of brook and meadow. Spring’s 
charm rejoiced the animals in the cages. 

A day when life meant joy. 

And the household people stepped forth; 
Jane and Eliza quite swiftly, with purple rib- 
bons in their caps for May- day celebration. 

To the conservatory their steps were directed, 
where Rosette lifted the radiant Rose (light as 
a feather) into the good ladies’ cross-folded 
hands. 

In this festive fashion she was carried past 
the cheering servants upon a throne suited to 
such a unique fete champetre. 

72 


Unique Tales* 


A smile of happiness dwelt on his counte- 
nance when Copernicus, placing a crown upon 
her head, proclaimed Rose May-queen. 

She thanked all round; with dignity and 
grace she prayed that those of her greenhouse 
friends, whom she had labeled with a crimson 
heart of love, be transplanted into the garden. 

" The less restricted their environment, 

The larger-hearted are their thoughts ” 

This just uttered, the bell announced a caller. 
Poor mother Jane held her breath. 

“Didn’t I tell you?” she said faintly. 

Alec on the stoop pulled the wire. 

The heavy door sprang open, and as quickly 
closed. 

“Not a bit!” said Eliza; and parrot and 
raven confirmed. 

Forth stepped, or rather flew — so rapid was 
the motion — a figure like a dwarf, yet manly 
to the utmost. 

With a thorn switch he raised the wind and 
whipped it so that it sighed and yelled • and the 
73 


Unique Tales* 

shrill sounds brought each one of the animals 
on its feet. 

With more than eagerness all stared, with 
awe. 

Before Rose, the queen, he halted, bent his 
knee; he offered her his hand. 

She faintly blushed. She raised him, whis- 
pered in his ear. 

Rosette he knew not; him, she perchance re- 
garded like a vision once seen in a dream. 

The ladies, at first perplexed, were reassured 
by his kind look ; and sympathized when with 
emotion he exclaimed: “Found, found at last! 
A happy man, I bring good news!” 

All lived in glad expectancy. 

“Are you all happy, too?” 

Rosette explained what ailed good mother 
Jane. 

Rose then burst out: “Montrose! Why are 
you clothed in such a heavy bear-suit, fitting 
garment but for winter?” 

“Evolution!” cried Montrose merrily. 

There was heard a snickering. 

74 


Unique Tales. 


Strange to say, the donkey, at least the wild 
donkey or yet the zebra, was the first one to un- 
derstand. 

“What?” asked the owl. 

‘ 1 Evolution !’ * shouted Montrose more lustily. 

The donkey snickered. 

“What means that funny word?” asked 
others. 

The donkey answered: “That he, an em- 
bodied winter rose, hath, in the course of trans- 
migration, now reached the stage of trans- 
formation into a bear.” 

The owl then also snickered; so did its neigh- 
bors; the contagion spread — the watchword: 
“Less bud, more bear,” reached the hyena, who 
burst into the wildest fits of laughter, soon 
joined by hilarious roars of lion, tiger and the 
like. 

Not less heartily laughed the domestics; 
laughed Rose and Rosette and Eliza; even 
mother Jane’s tears of bitterness had turned 
into tears of merriment. 

One great interest uniting all, Montrose, with 
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Unique Tales* 

the shout, “Now or never !” flew from bolt to 
bar. Each cage was opened, emptied; his 
presence was enough, the thorn switch whip- 
ping but the air. 

The lamb he had gently deposited on the 
lawn, where all assembled in sweet harmony. 

Bruno, the bear, said to Montrose: “Glad to 
meet you, brother.” 

Montrose shook claws : ‘ 4 Glad, too, ’ ’ he said — 
fuel for more uproarious laughter. 

The rose-switch only smote the air. Couples 
were formed as for a dance on the lawn. 

This achieved, Montrose flew to its center, 
his gaze uplifted, as all thought, to Rose. But 
near her (visible but to the two) stood majestic 
Dame Nature, blessed them, blessed all, and 
pronounced the bowing Montrose henceforth 
free from bearish fetters. Rose also thanked her. 
For dance the frames of the jolly beasts were 
too shaking. A grand promenade was there- 
fore arranged. 

Between lion and tiger walked mother Jane 
and the lamb. 


76 


Unique Tales. 


Mother Eliza, then asked by the smiling tiger 
for a partner, accepted his forearm ; and after 
some rounds was overheard to say : “To think, 
that I ever called you a horrid creature !” 

‘ 4 Happily,’ ’ had answered the tiger, “there 
are sweet afterthoughts.” 

To her partner elephant the giraffe incident- 
ally remarked: “Even if lifted upon your 
trunk, I could not peep over this wall.” Hu- 
morously trumpeting: “For a’ that I can peep 
through the conservatory’s upmost window,” 
the white elephant trunked over to her a cocoa- 
nut plucked at that height. “Hard to hold it, 
laughing,” said the giraffe through her pearly 
teeth. 

And as fortunes also sometimes come not 
singly — hearken ! The doorbell suddenly rang 
— rang all into silence. 

Where was Alec? What possessed the 
cuckoo-clock that it struck three o’clock, when 
it really was three o’clock in the afternoon! 

“Alec! Alec!” called Lady Jane. 

So profound the silence that the bullfinch’s 
song was heard : 


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Unique Tales* 

“ Enjoy, O enjoy life, 

So long as lasts its little flame ” 

Montrose pulled the wire. 

“Didn’t I tell you!” flowed slowly forth 
from the depth of the mother’s heart. 

This time no dissenting voice. And while 
in the embrace of Theo — of Theo, her beloved 
son — she had nothing, nothing for him but 
tears of joy. 

“I am happy to see you so well, mother! 
and these pretty purple ribbons, too,” he said 
quite tenderly; and nought dismayed by the 
jolly combinations around him, the matter-of- 
fact man merely addressed to the assemblage 
the greeting: “I’m happy that you all are so 
very happy.” 

His mother still clinging to him, he, some- 
what disconcerted, asked her not to be too 
hard on him, and continued: “Not again will 
I leave you, mother. I have seen enough of 
the world, and shall devote my life to you, and 
perhaps to a book brimful of my experiences 
as an explorer.” 


78 


Unique Tales* 


Caressing Rosette, who (wanting to love 
whomever her benefactress loved) held his 
hand, Theo unburdened his heart to the mother 
in these words: “This rosy maiden ” 

“Little Rosette come back to me,” said 
Eliza. 

“ — would be a nice companion,” he contin- 
ued, “to a little East Indian girl, the daughter 
of a widow, whom, as dutiful son, I would not 
marry without your consent. She is refined, 
very social, fond of keeping open house, and of 
serving many courses at table ” 

“ Would you mind?” asked mother the aunt. 

“Not a bit.” This with delight. 

The expression of his mother’s dear eye told 
to Theo her assent. 

A happy family was this! 

That from fear of his master or the tiger, 
Alec had disappeared, did not matter, because 
Theo had brought with him a servant both 
faithful and efficient. 

“I’m glad he has a purse,” said Jane to her- 
self, Alec in mind. 


79 


Unique Tales. 

In joyous expectation of a new playmate, 
Rosette looked for Rose in order to discuss 
attendant possibilities. 

The kangaroo, the lion, rhinoceros; the 
monkey, tiger, camel, gnu and all the other 
animals, except only the lamb, she perceived to 
have been ushered back into their cages; saw 
the lamb happy on the grass; saw gardener 
and servants. In vain she searched for Rose. 

That, prompted by unconquerable desire for 
land and sea, Rose and Montrose had sought 
the open— seemed after all, so natural! 

Rosette repeated to herself her consolation to 
the melancholy wren, that there are other sum- 
mers. 

By good Dame Nature Jane and Eliza were 
inspired to utter lightly : 

“Wild Roses will be Wild Roses.’’ 


80 


EMBODIMENT OF FRAGRANCY, 


CHRIST MAS-STORY, NARRATIVE OF ADVENTURES, 
AND FAIRY TALE. 


/ 


« 


St 

f 

h 


EMBODIMENT OF FRAGRANCY. 


I. 

CHRISTMAS BOXES. 

No doubt every family has traits of its own, 
and the trait of the Stern born’s was to give 
presents to Agnes and Felix, aged nine years 
and seven respectively, but once a year — at 
Christmas, of course. While the neighboring 
Bob and Joe received on birthdays, for in- 
stance, a piece of gingerbread and even a pic- 
ture, the parents Sternborn celebrated such holi- 
days by demonstrative congratulations, by em- 
bracing and kissing the birthday child ; but so 
great is sometimes the obduracy of the little 
ones at home, that on last birthday, when his 
father looked love to him with moistened eye, 
Felix expressed regrets at not having Bob’s pa 
for father ; yea, went so far as to say that he 
83 


Unique Tales* 

preferred gingerbread to affection. Gentle 
father, however, pressed the boy to his heart, 
and spoke of Renunciation as sister to Econ- 
omy, hence virtue’s disciplinarian. 

No wonder, then, that on the approaching 
Christmas eve their nursery looked utterly for- 
lorn with its doll like a mummy, its rocking 
horse like a lame Rozinante. But what a 
change when, as if by magic of the bells that 
sounded, the folding doors flew open, and hun- 
dred lights of the laden tree illuminated all the 
splendors, which where gifts extraordinary, 
such as a jointed doll that could talk, a Zoetrope 
raining pitchforks; and when the well-combed 
donkey, who as yet had only opened and closed 
his eyes, turned out to be a real, live donkey, 
and, the boy on his back, made the circuit of 
the presenting tables, merriment was at its 
highest. 

With something of everything, books were 
not wanting; they, however, reflecting the 
father’s much- vaunted method of education, 
based on sternest realism, would not have ap- 
84 


Unique Tales, 


pealed to the still absent uncle's taste. But 
what exception could his sister Thusnelda — 
mother of the children — take to “Fox’s 
Martyrs” for Agnes, “Bloody Wars and Con- 
quests” for Felix, since she was probably con- 
verted to her husband’s faith, as every good 
housewife is supposed to be. 

Uncle’s absence could not be explained until 
the last candlelight shone on his telegram : 

“To Ernest Sternborn: 

Delayed by no less personage than Santa 
Claus himself. Timothy Tiddles.” 

A reconciling message, and pleasant, too, in 
that it promised renewed pleasure for to- 
morrow. 


85 


Unique Tales. 


II. 

PROMISES. 

To live through a long night of expectancy 
is not so easy a matter as the simple turning of 
this leaf which introduces the kind reader to 
Uncle Timothy, the welcome guest at Stern born 
Hall. To state that he looked very like his 
friend Santa Claus gives a minute description, 
if one except the eye, inasmuch as uncle’s ex- 
pressed more dreaminess than discrimination; 
and after some mysterious hammering in the 
nursery, where he had busied himself for quite 
a while, he there received his relatives, some- 
what ceremoniously; for he was to be the lion 
for the next half hour in which he would en- 
hance his reputation as an entertaining story- 
teller. 

Before ascending the newly erected platform, 
86 


Unique Tales. 


he was entreated by the children to admit Bob 
and Joe to the amusement; but Timothy ob- 
jected on the plea that interruption during the 
performance might break the charm, and a 
larger audience than of four could not keep 
silent. After the four had been vowed to 
silence, which promise Timothy insisted upon 
being strengthened by a kiss from each one, the 
children reminded uncle of their habit to rise in 
school when impulse seized them, at least when 
they believed they knew a thing or two. 

“Arise, but hold your little tongue ; and let 
me add that any question proposed in a story 
is to be answered by the teller alone!” said 
the amused uncle, leaving parents and children 
seated before an improvised curtain. 


87 


Unique Talcs. 


III. 

A SPEECH. 

A slight tick, and the rising curtain ad- 
mitted to view the counterpart of Santa 
Claus, with his congenial smile and a pea- 
jacket, the pockets of which projected a good 
deal — from a heavy far glove in each, maybe. 
He said : 

“ ‘With an eye for beauty you need not take 
the trouble to ascend the Sierras, but may ob- 
tain satisfaction in the city park,’ said I to 
myself when there standing in front of a basin 
filled with choice plants in bloom. After hav- 
ing imbibed their honey an oriole sipped the 
liquid crystal; other objects favorable to en- 
trancement gathered about when the harsh, 
‘Old clothes, sir?’ broke upon me. 

“ ‘I, for my part, wear only shining rai- 
ments,’ said I, indignantly. 

88 


Unique Tales. 


u ‘Indeed, sir!’ persisted the peddler, ‘there 
is a sartin shine about them that brings them 
exactly within my line.* 

“My farewell salutation, intended for only 
him, drove birds and gathering nymphs away ; 
it had been so emphatic that the sparkling fishes 
sought shelter under the circular emerald 
leaves; that lotos and lilies, after having 
stopped up their ears, closed altogether. The 
spell was broken. 

“This illustration of curse following inter- 
ruption I bring before you, brethren and nieces, 
because I have not full faith in your recent 
promises; and in order to impress you still 
deeper, I should like it to be understood, that 
each interrupter forfeit a Christmas present in 
case such were in store for her or him.” 

This much-applauded speech concluded the 
scene in the narrow antechamber. 


89 


Unique Tales. 


IV. 

AN ORIGINAL STAGE. 

Another cliquetis, and the eye rested 01 
strangely pointed growths reminding of aloes, 
hemlocks and the like, but upon the whole, in 
discernible by the uncertain light. It waf 
not long, however, ere a soft greenish lustei 
illumed their bursting into bloom ; and while 
this tropical garden spread out, a balmy redo^ 
lence, as from the many flowers in the midst oi 
palmetto trees, pervaded the nursery. Like 
one of those pictures which by simple contrive 
ance develop standing scenery, this paper flora 
had been produced ; and in order not to impair 
the illusion, the inventor kept seated on some 
elevation behind luxuriant shrubbery in a man- 
ner that scarcely his forefinger or a slate-pencil 
could be seen ; nor was it perceptible whether 
he recited from memory or read: 

90 


Unique Tales. 


V. 

A FAIRY TALE. 

Disinclined to superlatives, I yet feel duty 
bound to declare the tale, now unfolding, the 
most exquisitely beautiful one in existence. 
Not that it treats of fairies alone — for Ethel berta 
and Victor were as tangible a little girl and a 
little boy with ruddy cheeks and good stout 
limbs as might be found in the town where 
they lived among pleasant associations, not 
the least of which were a pleasant mamma and 
papa. Of indoor diversions there were many; 
and the garden was large enough to hold, be- 
sides an arbor, a flower bed for each one of the 
children. However, little attention was be- 
stowed to these luxuries in the city. The 
flowers, transplanted from winter quarters to 
the narrow beds, were no longer a novelty to 
Victor and Ethel berta; and to watch a few 
91 


Unique Tales. 

seeds growing up they considered not worth 
the while — for the awakening of spring in its 
unboundedness was to be celebrated in their 
country seat, whereto their minds began to 
wander. And yet, departure seemed a long 
way off, when reflecting that ere then consider- 
able time was to elapse even after Ethelberta’s 
birthday. No matter what garment of patience 
the little ones exerted themselves to put on, 
that birthday seemed never, never to come. 
At the bottom of all that pleasant flutter of im- 
patience was the sure expectancy of — Well, 
is a birthday present not the finest thing on 
earth? 

Up started, as if by agreement, both Felix 
and Agnes; but as quickly lifted the uncle his 
warning finger, and the deserted seats were re- 
taken. 

What then contained the ribbon-and-catnip- 
trimmed basket which father presented to 
Ethelberta? What, forth from its half-opened 
cover, said Miau, miau? 

Instantly both children, again on their feet, 
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Unique Tales# 

■were motioned down, while the shrubbery ap- 
peared to shake from laughter. 

A Maltese kitten of four short weeks’ duration. 

“For no silk, no gold, no diadem; for nothing 
in the world would I surrender this lovely, 
lovely kitten!” exclaimed Ethel berta. “Poor 
thing, in tender babyhood abandoned by 
parents! Mother and sister will I be to it; it 
is so pretty!” But kitten was not in the least 
concerned about bereavements of any kind; 
which contentment, ascribed to predilection for 
its owner, endeared it so much the more. It 
became the pet of the household. 

One morning Victor bethought himself of a 
joke, stood behind mother, and holding a soft, 
gray-haired sample toward her cheek, asked* 
“Where is dear little kitten?” whereupon she, 
deceived, stroked the sample tenderly, to the 
amusement of all at table. And this playful 
deception was frequently repeated; mother, 
pretending not to know better, aware that, even 
as one must always smile to a smiling baby, 
she should humor every little joke of a child. 

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Unique Tales* 

The small garden now became the kitten’s 
garden, and school lessons were worked out in 
the arbor, because the clever climbing gave 
enjoyment to both, children and performer — 
little Maltese she was called, or simply “Mal- 
tese.” 

As Maltese was always under the eye of the 
boisterous playmates, not a cat dared even ap- 
pear on the high fence. What ebullition, what 
whirlwind, therefore, when at first meal in the 
country home, suddenly, from each of the din- 
ing-room’s corners, emerged a jealous jet-black 
cat (the janitor’s own) in hostile demonstration 
against Maltese ! Suppose you had never seen 
one of those black porcelain dolls, and all at 
once laid eyes on four of them, one in each cor- 
ner, would you not flee into your mother’s 
wardrobe? 

Up flew the children; calmed down; again 
shook the secreting shrubbery. 

Maltese fled into Ethelberta’s bureau drawer, 
where, couched on a lavender cushion, it with 
reluctance took the anxiously offered food for 
94 


Unique Tales. 


three days and nights — then disappeared, to the 
unutterable dismay of all concerned. 

After having (according to his own state- 
ment) reshipped the four black cats to Africa, 
the janitor proved the family’s and little Mal- 
tese’s friend by indefatigable search for the “de- 
mented kitten,” as he termed her. Not an 
hour during the day without endearing calls ; 
deeply into the night they rang, next day they 
extended to the neighboring farmers, and still 
farther. 

Something was wanting in all plays of the 
children. For their happiness, springtime was 
not what it should be. Were verdure ever so 
fresh, spring’s flowers were they ever so gay, 
some gray spot was wanting. 

Eating, they wondered, if kitten found food ; 
during rain, if she were protected. 

One fine morning Victor appeared in India- 
rubber boots. After a few words with him, 
his father was heard saying: “In slippers you 
are just as much of a man ; put on your slip- 
pers!” and, light-footed, the boy started fora 
95 


Unique Tales* 

far, prominent point on the opposite hill that 
commanded an extensive view. At moonrise 
he returned entirely dejected; and, after con- 
versation with his sister, one could perceive 
that the old sorrow still hung upon them. 

At this stage the narrator rejoices over being 
inspired to say — and begs the hearers to in- 
scribe in their heart the truth — that sorrow is 
not meant to last. 

A few more days, a few more nights: c f 
worry, and, brave children of brave parents, 
Victor and Ethelberta summon Oabtor and 
Pollux out of their kennels. These St. Ber- 
nards shared the qualities of their namesakes 
in that they were, in the words of history, 
heroes united by affection, inseparable in enter- 
prise. The cavalier’s and cavaliera’s size and 
age may be determined when told that their 
weight just suited those giant dogs. 

Away they tore, the riders appropriately 
clothed in costumes heretofore worn by them in 
theatricals, now in real life. 

With a variety of feelings — father citing 
96 


Unique Tales. 


healthful influences derived from the school of 
life; mother already enjoying the prospect of 
her children’s tale— the parents watched them 
through a spyglass until they disappeared be- 
hind the point visited by Victor some days ago. 

There the boy had perceived, beyond inter- 
vening valleys and lower hills, on top of a 
plateau some structure which, then painted 
golden by the evening sun, fascinated him 
again in broad day’s entrancing light. In that 
direction they bent their course. It proved in- 
deed to be no ordinary edifice — an observatory, 
where stars were plenty, but was, alas! ob- 
served no kitten. 

So on they rode, and when the shades began 
to lengthen reached 


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Unique Tales* 


VI. 


A HERMITAGE. 

“Well, well! Good-evening, children !” 
said quite a small man, grown small by weight 
of years, and thin by scanty diet ; indeed, most 
of him was a mind of his own. “You remind 
me,” he continued — “it takes a long time to 
remember eighty years back.” 

“Have you seen our Maltese kitten?” 

“And so you came,” answered Albin, the 
hermit, “to slay the dragon — dragons, ex- 
terminated last century, are a good way off. 
So you just take these fruits and this spring 
water, and pass the night on these oak-branch 
cots.” 

“Thank you. Is there in your hut a small 
gray cat?” 

“Not that I know. Ask my bird.” 

98 


Unique Tales* 


Wistfully gazed the bird, the richness of 
whose plumage made him appear above medi- 
um size, at the questioning children ; then, turn- 
ing sadly away, sang melodiously in its open 
cage: 

“Lost, lost, lost! 

Trails diverging 

May seas be surging 

’Tween fragrancy and South.” 

“Have you found the kitten?” asked the 
hermit. 

“We could not understand the bird.” 

‘ £ W ell, wait ; refreshing sleep may strengthen 
your wits and his. A man of ninety, like 
myself, is always wide awake.” 

So they slept well on their little cots, undis- 
turbed by Albin’s prayers throughout the 
night; nor suffered safely caved Castor and 
Pollux from the rain that fell as a blessing not 
to nature onlj r — But I must not again fore- 
stall. 

Awaking early and hearing him mumble, 
“Have you prayed that we may find our 
99 


Unique Tales* 


kitten?” asked the children Albin, who, caressed 
by the sun, sat on the outside bench. 

“Ask the bird,” said the hermit; and the 
bird sang his song. 

“What says the bird to your hearing?” 
asked Albin. 

“Lost, lost, lost! 

Trails diverging 

May seas be surging 

’Tween fragrancy and South,” 

answered Ethelberta. 

“To mine ears, aged one hundred, he sings: 

Viz., viz., viz., 

To wit, to wit, to wit — 


which surely means : 


Viz. , viz. , to wit, 

Wanting wit, 

Away to whiz.” 

“Where is fragrancy?” asked Victor. 
100 


Unique Tales. 

“What is the use of thinking about that at 
my ripe age of one hundred and twenty. Let 
the dogs ask the bird ; they may find the scent. ” 

And to them the bird sang his song, which 
heard, they gave an impatient bark; and the 
children, mounted, had scarcely time to seize 
the offered berries — so impetuous was the 
motion of the dogs. At full speed they took 
an apparently unwavering course. Lost on 
Victor, with sword at his side, on Ethelberta, 
with escutcheon across her breast, was the 
hermit’s call: “Visit me again! Good luck 
for your fight with the dragon!” 


101 


Unique Tales* 


YII. 

FRAGRANCY. 

The aspect of the country now changed in 
that, from the wooded hills through which they 
passed, a view opened upon long calcareous (at 
least chalky) stretches. These must be trav- 
ersed before fairer land could be reached. 
Pervaded as with the spirits of his bearer, Vic- 
tor uttered that he would pursue the search to 
the end of the world. 

Ah, little fellow! but where is the end of a 
globe? And are you aware that, even if the 
fourteen hundred and fifty million inhabitants 
of this rotund earth tendered their services to 
your highness, still many a retreat on its fifty- 
four million square miles would be left undis- 
covered? Instead of hastening, rather invoke 
a kind constellation, or trust in the habit of 
102 


Unique Tales. 


mother to pray for her son. A touch of so- 
lemnity in Timothy’s voice indicated his enter- 
ing into the heart of the story. 

As one unconsciously passes thousands of ob- 
jects protected by Nature— owls and treetoads 
among them — thus she conceals many a garden 
for uses of her own. Like birds of passage a 
couple of twin fairies had drifted into one of 
those exquisite reservations of Nature who, per- 
chance for the sake of their blindness, wanted 
to nurse them as her children. The encompass- 
ing rocks, in addition to hiding that spacious 
dominion, retained within it the exhalations of 
flowers which thrived there in profusion, each 
species in clusters. This manifold fragrancy 
constituted the life of the sisters. Deprived of 
eyesight, as they were, their sense for perfumes 
had become so refined that through them they 
inhaled the pleasures and griefs of existence; 
or yet : Full exercise of each particular emo- 
tion of theirs was dependent upon a particular 
fragrancy; and also we, although not thus 
gifted and afflicted, are sufficiently subject to 
103 


Unique Tales. 


emotions and versed in fragrancies to at least 
imagine associations between the two such as 
existed in the mind of these our new friends. 
So, if inclined for sport, they chose — whose 
fragrance would you think? 


What flowers of color gay. 

By them unseen, 

To sense of ours betray 
Inspiriting force unseen ? 

For playing- rink 

They chose the province of the pink. 

Their dances over, they resorted to 

Quintessence of perfection. 

Perfume, engendering 
Peace, and tendering 
Slumber on down i’ the section 
For repose — 

Hail to thee, Queen of queens, O Rose ! 

“Abominably fanciful!” here escaped the 
lips of Ernest Sternborn. 

“Entirely natural alliterations,” gently re- 
buked Timothy; and the rebuked might have 
104 


Unique Tales. 

traced the lines of ‘ Present forfeited,’ so audibly 
moved pencil over slate. 

So sensitive, continued imperturbed the 
narrator, Were the blind to touch that in their 
careful flight they were never harmed by thorn 
or thistle. 

Nobody can call Dame Nature cold or unmer- 
ciful ! 

Into this balmy retreat she guided another 
soul that appealed to her loving tendance, 
although this gray being only whispered miau. 
Before having found her way into the garden 
of the fairies, the demented Maltese had passed 
under a burning sun through dry, white regions 
as tr3 T ing to the eye as blinding snowfields. 
However, the universe being erected on the 
plan that help of some kind be ever within 
reach of the worthy, the kitten felt herself led 
to a spring near the entrance of this paradise. 
To dive her six-toed paw into it and to moisten 
her blue eyes with the water were actions of a 
moment, and as quickly she perceived her little 
self reflected, the encircling palm trees, and 
105 


Unique Tales. 

even far off, over flowers, the twin fairies. 
“Only a catbird !’* they sighed, and searched 
for the abode of 

GRIEF 

Geranium-scented, 

Based on belief 
That, the lamented 
In for half share, 

Through gravitation 
Separation 
End here or there. 

To that grove followed Maltese, and, 
although not quite her own self, she managed to 
assert herself as a companionable kitten. More 
endeared, there was apportioned to her the fra- 
grance of catnip, of course, the happiest selec- 
tion which could have been made. Weak as 
was her intellect in one direction, so much the 
stronger in another; indeed, thanks to kindly 
compensation, so strong that one fair day — fair 
they were mostly there — kitten knew enough to 
draw her friends from their pink play -rink to 
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the adjacent well. Deeply she dipped the vel- 
vet paws into the liquid, gently clomb upon her 
friends, and with the tenderness of a mother she 
touched the eyes of the fairies. Beneficent 
seemed to be that humid touch. Seated near 
them at the spring, Maltese sagaciously ob- 
served the enlivening pupils—the overwhelmed 
amazement. 

“ How beautiful thou art!” 

“ And thou, how beautiful ! ,; 

sobbed sister to sister, while they embraced 
each other. 

“Beautiful !” exclaimed in ecstasy Thus- 
nelda, nee Tiddles; and Justice being no re- 
garder of dimples and graces, the white mark 
of forfeiture became attached to Mrs. Stern- 
born’s name. 

And when, resumed her brother, in enrap- 
tured bewilderment their glances wandered 
over the superb display of colors, over the vast 
area covered with flowers, shrubs and trees, 
words failed them, but not tears to express un- 
bounded admiration. 


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“Here must also I,” said Timothy, with fal- 
tering voice, “observe silence for a while.” 
Nor could by the sobs of their father the 
children’s eager attention be diverted from the 
flowerage before them of paper, yet sufficient 
for them to feel: What a blessing that also 
we can see. 

Emotion overcome, solemn delivery took its 
course. What inspiration in store for the new 
seers when night would disclose the magni- 
ficence of the heavens ! 

The beds of brilliant fragrancy-dispensers; 
the elevations presenting them to perfection ; 
the effect of the blending of colors within the 
grand frame of gem-dotted rocks; above all, 
the firmament: All these sublimities, absorbed 
with rapture, were now of no moment to their 
young benefactress who solely watched for a 
glance from their eyes. When these at last 
rested upon her, both sisters were impelled to 
call a kitten one of the loveliest creations; and 
her ways of rubbing against them, curving her 
back as if too pleased with them, scampering 
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off, yet returning for renewed caress, brought 
her often toward rose-lips. 

Promenading through the garden, they re- 
garded with growing amazement beetles and 
berries, foliage and flowers. From them their 
gaze would gratefully revert to the kitten; and 
bethinking themselves of love due to her, they, 
as of old, closed their eyes in order to gain the 
scent to 

The love-incender 
Lavender : 

Intense as warmth of summer. 

As love that summer unfolds — 

Intense as love it embodies. 

Is fragrance this flower-bed holds. 

Before this cluster stood little Maltese like 
one charmed, in an instant inhalation of its 
perfume recalled to her the lavender cushion in 
the drawer, all attendant circumstances : and — 
happy to relate — effected was kitten’s cure, and 
a purr was added to her charms. Oh, how she 
then longed for her mistress ! Oh, how for Vic- 
tor and their home ! 


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A note of energy now forced through some 
fissure its way into the garden; a note not at 
all disconcerting nor fairies, nor her — for sensi- 
tive creatures know friendship’s bark. And 
when, at full gallop, the travelers had reached 
them, there was joy in Paradise. 

No balm needed children and dogs for eye- 
sight; night rain had softened the white 
stones’ glare ; and after both parties had smil- 
ingly scrutinized each other, the fairies de- 
clared human beings for the more admirable of 
the two. 

“In this instance, fairy ladies!” said the 
cavalier, “you err.” 

On their tour among blossoms and fancy 
grasses, fairies and children opened their hearts 
to each other; and with the words of their 
friends came the time of wonderment for the 
children. After the former had described the 
embodiments of fragrancy vouchsafed to their 
spiritual eye— “embodiments delicate, and, to 
this our second sight, not unlike the forms of 
hope, or love, or joy, beaming from your 
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human eye” — the childen could not enough 
wonder that sentiments should have been 
formed or yet fostered by fragrance ; sensations 
of rising and falling, waving and waltzing, by 
apparently motionless blossoms. However, as 
soon as the fairies had learned from what a fas- 
cinating form emanated each fragrance, Fra- 
grancy language became intelligible to all. 

Sadly the sisters turned to the geranium leaf, 
which, they sighed, had been resorted to for 
grief over the loss of a dearly beloved bird. 
Far back as they could remember he had been 
their associate whose every mood they had 
learned to esteem. “Most we delighted in his 
songs when carried to us on a certain stratum 
of air: 

The heliotrope 
Much sweetness granted, 

Yet more was wanted — 

A something undefined. 

Her breath stirred hope. 

There his song also conveyed to us a great 
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promise, now so happily fulfilled by manifesta- 
tion of the glories before us. When in our 
former odoriferous retreat, a flight of birds 
seemed to pass us seeking some warmer spring. 
Our friend is believed to have joined them ; im- 
pulse subsiding he may have turned; but in 
absence of a guiding trail again have pursued 
his flight to the South.’ ’ Here, blessing the 
training that his memory owed to school, Vic- 
tor’s voice softened into accents of the bird in 
the hermitage : 

“ Lost, lost, lost! 

Trails diverging 
May seas be surging 
’Tween fragrancy and South.” 

After which the fairies sang : 

“ And so he staid North forlorn;” 

and, used to surprises, they eagerly asked if 
Victor were the bird metamorphosed? The 
truth soon told, there was a new outbreak of 
rejoicing; the kitten again jumped over and 
upon the dogs— the most famous ride on record 
112 


Unique Tales. 


— and in spite of their long journey the St. Ber- 
nards behaved as friskily as kittens. And 
such effusions of thanksgivings! Everybody 
thanked everybody, and their demonstrations 
in these vital matters naturally merged into a 
little hymn of thanks to good Dame Nature. 

The journey back to the hermitage was like 
a flying triumphal procession. 

“Well, well,” said our friend, the hermit, 
“how things have changed! In my early 
years dragons” (this at Maltese) “were larger, 
and, as I think of it, of different shape alto- 
gether; and, bless my soul, if I ever laid eyes” 
(this at the fairies) “on such butterflies J n 
And he shook helmet and flag of the children, 
wings of the fairies, and paws of the rest. 

With reverence looked kitten at the bird. 

When bird and fairies gained sight of each 
other the sisters could move no further — such 
was their emotion, such their astonishment at 
the brilliancy of his varicolored plumage. 
Thus, with folded hands they stood. But the 
bird left the cage into which he had banished 
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himself after all vain attempts to find the play- 
mates ; and tenderly nestling to their garlanded 
faces, he sang : 


** Found, O found! 

Nothing ever 
Again us sever — 

Not e’en the fragrant North.” 

“Thou shalt not die for us, beautiful bird!'’ 
said the fairies. “ Whithersoever thou hoppest, 
thithersoever we will hop. ,> 

At this outburst of overflowing feelings the 
whole family Sternborn, only too glad to find 
an outlet for their emotion, burst into roars of 
laughter. 

“And whither thou fliest we will fly.” 

“Then let us migrate to the milder South!” 

“To the far, fragrant South!” 

Taking leave of dogs and kitten, their winged 
friends said : 

“Farewell, sweet quadrupeds with four 
legs.” 

Kenewed peals of laughter filled the nursery, 
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and repetition of the sentence was solicited by 
Thusnelda and Ernest. But Timothy Tiddles 
insisted with as much firmness as a laughing 
voice can command, that better things were 
coming. 

Said the fairies in kissing the children : 

“ Farewell, sweet bipeds on two feet.” 

If roars had followed former utterances, what 
should be said of the well-sustained uproar 
after this last greeting? 

“Too, too good!” shouted Sternborn. 
Nothing more had he to forfeit; and while 
through furrows, formed by hilarity, tears 
rolled into mutton-chop whiskers, he went on 
to say: “The fairies must have been in a 
humorous vein that afternoon,” which effusion 
forced also Timothy into hearty laughter. 

A sharp tick on the slate restored attention 
to the narrative. 

•'Farewell! In other springs we meet again.” 

By their flight high in the air the hermit was 
moved to sing : 


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* Viz., viz., 

To wit, to wit, to wit ; 

Birdie found at last his wit.” 

Out of his cavernous coach-house he rolled a 
small conveyance, whereto were harnessed Cas- 
tor and Pollux. 

Victor and Ethelberta yet pointed out to 
Albin, who had not quitted these quarters for 
many a year, some not distant grounds which 
they had noticed to be far more sheltered, as 
also to offer more fuel and fruit. 

“Well, well,” said the hermit before his 
guests were out of sight; “to think of the use 
made of that rickety wagon in which I wheeled 
my blessed children two hundred years ago;” 
and cheerfully he turned his steps toward the 
new domain. 


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Unique Tales. 


VIII. 

FINIS CORONAT OPUS. 

The observatory passed, the equipage could 
not move over many prominences un watched 
by the travelers’ parents. Seldom perhaps a 
spyglass did better service than on that occa- 
sion. “I am confident that my hopes will be 
realized!” exclaimed the joyous father. “My 
prayers heard, I anticipate much joy from the 
tale of their adventures!” were the jubilant 
words of the mother. And when at length 
sounds the post horn, and smacks the whip, and 
bark the dogs, and mews the kitten, the story- 
teller can hardly be heard when saying that he 
is pleased that you, dear friends, are pleased 
with such a joyful, such a glorious ending. 

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IX. 

THE TRUE ISSUE. 

Amid deafening applause Uncle Timothy 
stepped from the platform, griped deeply into 
his peajacket pockets, and with tenderness 
handed to each one of the expectant children a 
tiny Maltese kitten. 

“Betsey,” he said to the receiving Agnes; 
“and Sammie,” to Felix, who, like his sister, 
jumped for delight. 

“Right were the fairies,” exclaimed both, 
“in naming a kitten a most precious treasure.” 

“Direct descendants from the Maltese of my 
story,” added uncle, by way of explanation. 

“These are not demented?” 

“Intelligent pets they were to put in their 
word just at the right times during the story,” 
jested the mother. 


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“Pose a kindly black cat in front of them, 
and they will be all right/ ’ was the uncle’s 
proposition, approved by the kittens; at least a 
quick double miau of each was thus interpreted 
by the children. 

“Idiosyncrasies (which sometimes means 
sublime endowments) do not descend to animals 
so much as to man ; and since Ethelberta and 
Victor are nobody else, dear children, than my 
mother and my father, I, Timothy, your uncle, 
am a genius of high degree, which I trust the 
rendering of my tale to have fully confirmed.” 

“Fully!” was the general ejaculation. 

“No less,” urged Tiddles, improving his vic- 
tory, “is to be appreciated its intrinsic value, 
replete as it is with delightful touches of geo- 
graphy, history, arithmetic, and with such en- 
tomological-ethical tendencies which make a 
fairytale simply educational. And which was 
your favorite part, little girl?” 

“Some parts,” answered Agnes, “I did not 
quite understand ; but each mention of fairies 
made my heartlet perfectly happy.” 

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“No use,” began to speak the father — “no use 
combating harmless, inborn disposition. The 
secret out, I am ready to change my method of 
education.” 

“For what length of time?” meekly asked 
Agnes. 

“Why not until they are of age?” ventured 
to interpose Thusnelda. 

“Thus be it!” answered Ernest Stern born; 
and descrying “Fox’s Martyrs,” and “Bloody 
Wars and Conquests,” he hinted that he would 
as lief retain these in his premises till then. 

“This fault is easily remedied,” laughed 
Timothy, while again relieving his pockets, 
this time of the ponderous volumes “Fairy Tales 
of all Nations” for Agnes, “Fables of all Times 
and Places” for Felix. 

Perception of children, dear little souls! is 
keen. Her poor kitten asked for a velvet col- 
lar, interlaced with gold. Would not papa 
give one to Agnes on next birthday? 

“Rather would I give birthday presents to 
you for yourself,” advanced the reformed 
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father. Felix instantly brought this concession 
home to himself, and each child grasped one 
of papa’s hands. Mother, hastening to take 
each free hand of theirs, it so happened that 
the four formed a closed circle round Timothy, 
as yet, like his brother-in-law, unconscious of 
the performance. 4 4 However erratic my 
method may have been,” debated the latter with 
great animation, 44 1 rejoice never to have used 
the rod, having substituted for the scriptural 
rod my by far happier, and doubtless more cor- 
rect translation, Advice (in German Rat), 
‘Spare advice and spoil the child.’ ” 

“Well, well,” interrupted Timothy (some- 
what in the tones of the hermit), beginning to 
realize his precarious position; “in due season 
we will work out for you a new method of edu- 
cation. Now let us yield to the pleasures of 
the Christmas festival!” And after a short 
pause, possibly in order to regain liberty, he 
said to the children : “Now call in your friends 
of all names whatsoever, and tell them that, 
although not quite five hundred years old, like 
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hermit Albin, this Santa Claus has about so 
many peajacket pockets filled for good children, 
and particularly for good listeners.’ ’ The last 
words were uttered already beyond reach of the 
children, with a feigned reproachful glance at 
Mr. and Mrs. Sternborn, while to them tender- 
ing his empty hands. But, oh, how much a 
warm pressure of the hand contains! 


m 


ALLOTTED FOR EACH OTHER; 


OR. 


A MODERN PARADISE. 


I 


ALLOTTED FOR EACH OTHER. 


i. 

A DREAM. 

Such there be and should always be, who, 
finding themselves bearers of an illustrious 
name, endeavor to gratify their parents’ fond 
vanity by living up to at least one cardinal 
virtue of the celebrity after whom they were 
named. Let one, so unfortunate as to be chris- 
tened George Washington, but never tell a lie, 
and those around him, as certainly as himself, 
will be the better for it. 

Like him of the Madonnas, the young 
Raphael of this true tale devoted himself to 
palette and brush; but his productions were 
too flighty, too multifarious to make him great 
— flowers he painted, animals, landscapes, 
125 


Unique Tales. 

Bometimes strikingly, often eliciting decided 
preference for the originals : “What,” had his 
parents said, “does that matter to him, the 
possessor of an independent fortune?” 

This leads to the mention of a genuine affin- 
ity of his with the renowned namesake — an 
affinity (developed but after the untimely, de- 
plorable demise of his parents) in the surpris- 
ing direction that he bestowed upon each woman 
the veneration due to a Madonna, a praise- 
worthy and imitable homage, to be sure. 

Himself he held so deeply beneath the lowli- 
est of the fair, that the thought of a marital 
union lay as remote from him as that of accost- 
ing an unapproachable deity. 

However, dreams come unawares ; and one of 
those which are prophecies guided him to a 
maiden whom (how suddenly are changes 
wrought through love !) he forthwith vowed to 
win. Black had been the attire lightly inclos- 
ing her lithe form ; the shortness of her black 
hair, just touching neck and shoulders — a bar 
to beauty, perchance, with others— seemed to 
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Unique Tales 


enhance the beauty of her features ; but the 
charm, that held young Raphael captive, was 
the ingenuousness speaking out of her eyes, 
together with the Unaffected cordiality where- 
with she had welcomed him in the dream. 

Her, therefore, he must make his own at 
whatever cost; and as the surroundings, illu- 
mined by her presence, had evidently been en- 
chanted, his first steps must be directed toward 
the haunted woods across the river. Night, to 
be sure, was yawning. But what of grewsome 
night, if it reveal the precious jewel ! 


127 


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II. 

HAUNTED GROUNDS. 

The river’s aspect surely was forbidding. 
A forsaken rowboat, easily detached, proved 
as efficient as desired. At that hour no other 
oarsman would have ventured upon those 
waters, which were not long ere manifesting 
their connection with the haunted grounds. 
The rower’s eagerness, however, had no time 
for timidity. With satisfaction he perceived 
his passage quickened ; to others was then left 
the care of the helm. Readily he counted them 
as part of the adorable “woman-soul”; and 
touching land he exclaimed: “Thanks for your 
services, sweet nymphs! I am your friend.” 

From a previously studied chart, joined to a 
volume entitled “Legends Old and New,” the 
solitary wanderer inferred that but one spot in 
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Unique Tales, 


those regions might be available for his pur- 
pose — one in their very heart, since no other 
clearing was marked as sufficiently spacious for 
the palatial structure connected with his dream- 
image. To reach that recess many a ravine 
had to be passed in the darkness, many an en- 
tanglement to be overcome with limbs and 
cane. Such retarding impediments were in- 
variably followed by increased speed ; and the 
sound of his hurried steps, multiplied by 
echoes, became strangely mingled with low 
notes, the origin of which remained a mystery. 

The sketched clearing was no myth. In the 
dim starlight were spread out before him sturdy 
trees or sometimes less definable objects encir- 
cling the space filled with luxuriant grasses and 
flowers — instead of the longed-for romantic 
edifice. 

Hence another train of thought must be pur- 
sued ; and our knapsacked pilgrim prayed for 
inspiration, or rather tried to pray, while his 
disappointment fostered feelings at variance 
with edification, among them the growing sus- 
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Unique Tales* 

picion, in part loudly expressed (while the 
sounds of his voice, vibrating as if sportive 
spirits played ball with them, belied his argu- 
ment), that the reputation of the forest was 
a fraud. 

But things remarkable are rare and take their 
time in coming. 

“Discouragement retards, ” he thought ; and 
on he sped from wooded path to mossy rock, 
where motions more discreet were bidden. 
Anon a height was reached, along which there 
extended a spacious level way bordered by per- 
pendicular rocks, while the forest underneath 
was buried in blackness. 

With a sigh he felt energy succumb to 
fatigue; and, seated on a rock, his gaze wan- 
dered from the inscrutable dark to the wall in 
front, castellated and seemingly covered with 
scenes of the Middle Ages. Only for a moment 
did these rouse the artistic sense of Raphael ; 
for even if warlike pictures had been congenial 
to him, the true import of these was not dis- 
cernible in the uncertain starlight, excepting 
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Unique Tales. 


perchance a gigantic warrior designed and glit- 
tering on the directly opposite rock part. Un- 
consciously the artist had assumed a reclining 
position, and sleep surprised him on the mossy 
couch under a laurel bush. 

Sleep of questionable length — sleep shaken off 
as violently as it had softly come. 

Raphael stood erect. In art imagination 
had helped him out; but here facts surpassed 
his wildest fancies. Erect, like himself, still 
stood the wall in front. Was it part of a forti- 
fication of the Powers of the Dark? Had they 
let loose the terrors of an all-annihilating can- 
nonade? No flash, no smoke. No loophole in 
the solid rock. 

Or had a thunderous tempest burst forth? 
Under the still quietly shining stars? 

Then surely volcanic forces are at play, erup- 
tion fraught. Or yet will an earthquake thrust 
all into the gloom below? Already bowlders 
upon bowlders rolled into the unfathomable 
deep; already nearer raged the fury of the ele- 
ments. 


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“Not furj r , startled traveler,” might a quiet- 
ing voice have whispered; “nor of elements. 
As yet proceedings in this adventurous night 
take an ordinary course.” Unnatural but the 
all too sudden transition from stillness to the 
violent movements of a powerfully built, splen- 
did snow-white horse, who, having espied a 
human being in this solitude, had galloped 
toward him over trunk and bowlder. 

Raphael, not long in recognizing the ani- 
mal’s overjoyance, repaid its endearments to 
the fullest. 

This proof of the unerring instinct of animals 
reminded him of a dove which once had flown 
out of a wilderness into his, a lonely wanderer’s 
arms. 

Before having assured himself whether the 
white mare were in any wise enchanted, he 
had asked her if a stately mansion existed, on 
these grounds, and she could carry him to the 
maiden in black; whereupon the horse had 
shaken the mane that reached below her broad 
chest. 


Unique Tales. 


Perfect understanding established between 
the two, the animal stayed near by, content; 
while man once more bespoke repose, by this 
time convinced that his former sleep had been 
oblivion of a moment — so unbroken yet the deep 
of the night. 

“Beautiful companion,” he still said; “com- 
forter more substantial than mere whistling in 
the dark.” 

No repose, however, seemed vouchsafed to 
him; yea, unspeakable was his astonishment, 
his dismay, when the portrayal of the gigantic 
warrior broke, with a crash, loose from the op- 
posite rock- wall; when this giant in person 
lowered the visor, through which sparkled un- 
canny eyes; struck with resounding vigor the 
flat of his weapon against the shield; bran- 
dished the sword, thereby forcing shrieks of woe 
from the rent air. A step forward, and he 
challenged to mortal combat him who had in- 
vaded and calumniated his territory. 

The mare, upon her trembling haunches, 
ears thrown back, nostrils distended, never de- 
serted her new friend. 

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The artist’s sensitive nerves displayed a sim- 
ilar activity at this critical period of his exist- 
ence. Through his mind flashed the conviction 
that, by the shaking of her long, long tail (or 
was it mane?) the mare had conclusively in- 
dicated that his business in the woods was set- 
tled. 

Tempestuously as had roared the expectant 
giant, so softly followed the enticing cooing of 
Raphael’s befriended dove, perched on a higher 
rock which, on the right, revealed to quickened 
senses a curve in the wall, available mayhap 
for rapid ascension. 

Palette and brush, or yet pilgrim staff and 
knapsack, were they expected to cope with 
weapons sprung from rock? 

Forth from the mystic circle 
Come, come to me, 

To me — 

such meaning seemed the cooing to convey. 
The artist bethought himself of the comfort 
at the bosom of sweet safety ; and with a celer- 
134 


Unique Tales. 


ity that would surely be envied by a hotly pur- 
sued buck, he turned toward, and clambered 
up the adjacent rock with apparently natural 
accommodations for ascent. 


135 


Unique Tales. 


III. 

THE ROSE GARDEN AND CAVE OF FAITH. 

Arrived above, one glance revealed a coun- 
try of many possibilities, yet enchantment free. 
The valley lay at a great distance. To meas- 
ure distance or indulge in other contemplations 
was just then out of question. 

The successful climber now tried his skill in 
swiftfootedness ; pursued the downward course 
until the stimulus was spent; then laid down 
to sleep, sleep sweet, dreamless and refreshing, 
under the protecting stars. 

The first faint light of day removed his 
slumber. As far as reached his glance, down 
the grand slanting hill and up again to the op- 
posite ridge, he could discern but one species of 
vegetation— the most sublime to his intuition — 
rosebushes, all planted in equal nearness to 
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each other. Velvety green incasing the lus- 
cious, fragrant blossom, suggested the moss- 
rose. Even thornless were these roses, whereof 
he, erstwhile bedded upon them, must have 
been an indisputable judge. Raphael would 
not stop to analyze, partly because, from habit, 
he only searched for art objects on business tours 
(as otherwise he could enjoy nor object, nor 
scenery); chiefly, however, he now hurried 
through the rose garden, fearing not diminu- 
tion of mutual love — for that could never be! — 
but interference of disturbing circumstances 
through loss of time. 

The roses left behind, he passed, ere yet the 
sun had fairly risen, by the brink of an extensive 
natural excavation, so bright in scintillating 
whiteness, so brilliant like phosphorescence, 
that he could not resist to descend, there to espy 
a multitude of caves with wide openings of 
equal lucidity; a white altar visible in each. 

Entering one of these shrines he found sus- 
pended on its altar a tablet on which was en- 
graven in diamantine letters the single word, 
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Unique Tales« 


“Faith. ” This word he took to heart, cared not 
for the worldly treasures which the caves might 
hold, and moved on with cane and knapsack and 
with faith. 


138 


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IV. 

THE MEETING AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 

“Where roses bloom 
There sometimes blooms a maiden.” 

With this effusion the artist had transcended 
into poetry, a form so favored by lovers, chiefly 
the lovesick. 

She at the garlanded porch of a farmhouse 
was, alas! not her with the black robe, the 
short black hair, the Roman nose. This latter 
thought scarcely framed, he recognized in it the 
fervently desired inspiration, genuine beyond a 
doubt. Joyfully he repeated to himself: The 
Roman nose! and forthwith asked for the way 
to Rome. Mindful, however, that while believ- 
ing he had swerved from the direct course, he 
had found the inspiration through the by-path 
to the shrine, he henceforth sped with more cir- 
cumspection. 


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At length the scenery adopted the peculiar 
Italian character; yea, became Italy itself, of 
fascination so well known through pictures and 
books, if not through enviable experience. 


The end of another of many days drew near. 
Before, however, counting also that day as 
lost, he undertook a moonlight stroll, well not- 
ing the situation of the village inn. 

High trees formed the alley from whose 
graveled sidewalk he viewed a succession of 
rich residences, erected in luxurious gardens, 
each one of which would yield a painting of in- 
dividual charm, with orange flavor. 

Anon another estate revealed itself; larger 
than its neighbors; bordered by sturdy, low 
. cypresses. 

The wanderer quickened his steps. His 
heartbeats quickened. Certainty was gained 
when, at the portal, the remote palace, on both 
sides adorned by high, superb cypresses, pre- 
sented itself to his excited gaze. 

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Gloomy seem both, palace and cypresses; 

Lovelier ne’er was gloom — 

Kindly moon ! shift but thy silvery tresses, 
Shifting gloom to bloom. 

Thus Raphael — painter, poet, lover. 

Beset by a thousand thoughts he directed, 
amid shrubs and statues, his steps toward the 
edifice. 

“Is the moon tired of good rhymes?” he re- 
flected. ‘ ‘ Who knows her silvery moods ! The 
gloom, far from shifting, ever expands. Nay, 
I surely wrong the kindly moon. Shines not 
that white marble column e’er so brilliantly? 
The figure, whose elbow rests on it, cannot but 
be draped in black.” Such his tumultuous 
thoughts. “Is it a statue?” he still trem- 
blingly asked himself. 

Anon the figure turned its delicately featured 
face, verily encompassed with floating (though 
short) black hair; and laying both her hands 
into his, on whom now dwelled her soulful 
eyes, she replied to his impulsive quotation: 
“Like Niobe, all tears?” in touching notes of 
convincing candor : 


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“Niobe is as truly my name as yours is 
Raphael. All this you see is not deceptive 
gloom, a playground for romance, but sad real- 
ity; for know, my mother died this week; my 
father, the marchese, never ill before, then died 
of love for her. Thus I an orphan, and gloom 
hangs over my estate.” 

Then said Raphael to her : “Thus united also 
my parents pilgrimed into the Beyond. Like 
unto our parents we two will live for, and die 
with, each other.” 

And they were wedded ; for thus it was de- 
creed. 


142 


Unique Tales. 


V. 

DISENCHANTMENTS. 

In due season the bride was to be taken to 
the artist’s home. Neatly she laid out the 
route, whereof be, of course, fully approved. 
Yet something, she thought, weighed upon his 
mind; and with much coaxing she elicited the 
secret, that he longed to trace and further be- 
friend the beautiful white steed, which longing 
she then shared. 

By this new plan their wedding journey 
would (Fate willing) terminate in a pleasurable 
pedestrian tour. 

They also agreed to transplant one of the 
rare rose bushes into their future home for or- 
nament, or else model if (what was greatly 
doubted) corresponding supernal colors could 
he found on this earth. 

143 


Unique Tales. 


Another glowing description of the rose 
garden was hesitatingly followed by the confes- 
sion of his adventure with the giant warrior, 
related without reserve; and when praise was 
not withheld for the civilian’s discretion in the 
matter, Raphael rapturouslj' drew the bride to 
his heart, exclaiming, “One heart, one soul!” 


Of baggage for shipment apparently there 
was no end! Yet still she urged: “I wonder 
whether your little house would hold the con- 
tents of seven more trunks; by my leaving 
your knapsack behind, the average would be 
adjusted.” 

“Heap on, Niobe!” quoth the husband, well 
pleased with her humor. 

“And if you have a little garden, I should 
dearly love to — ” This point was dropped, 
owing to a peculiar look of his, not then under- 
stood. 

Of friends praying for early return none could 
replace the parents whom she had lost, none 
detract from the husband whom she followed. 
144 


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A journey of happiness was theirs, during 
which they could not sufficiently extol the wis- 
dom of Fate in having brought them together. 

While lauding the immutability of love 
throughout the vicissitudes of everything else, 
they drew near to the station connected with 
Raphael’s inspiration. 

The tidy farm was apparently untenanted, 
save by a young eagle in vain striving to soar 
beyond its wire cage, of which lonely prison 
the observer made a note. 

The adjacent garden of roses should have 
been the next point of interest. But what was 
the young husband’s amazement, when, instead 
of exuberant flowerage, there arose before them 
a profusion of an entirely different kind of veg- 
etation. In the center of that immense undu- 
lating field they found themselves surrounded 
by innumerable cumbersome cabbages — cab- 
bage stumps, cabbage leaves, cabbage heads! 

Turning in bewilderment toward Niobe, he 
asked: “Is it possible, sweet love, that cab- 
bages be converted into moss roses for the 
145 


Unique Tales* 

special benefit of a pilgrim on the wings of 
love?” 

“Yes,” was her laconic reply, followed by 
his ringing laughter and the consoling reflec- 
tion that the artist needed not burden himself 
with an inimitable model. 

Yet he rejoined: “And love alone produced 
the fragrancy inhaled by me amid the cab- 
bages?” whereto she made answer, with great 
earnestness : 

“Even as the broken lines of a circle are re- 
plenished by the imaginative eye, thus love 
rounds and perfects everything.” 

“And yet — ” sighed he, 

‘ * That slumbered I should have on cabbage — 
Cabbage-head for pillow, 

Cabbage-leaf for cover. ” 

“Be calmed; they had no thorns.” 

‘ ‘ Than that of yours no human word was e’er more 
true — 

A genuine thornless rose, my darling, you!” — 
a happy repartee with many pleasantries in its 
wake. 


146 


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To his stammered question: “The scintillat- 
ing caves — whither have they flown?” she re- 
plied : 

“No matter. Faith gained, the source is im- 
material.” 

Now then for the rare mare, to be rescued 
from the ban of enchantment. 4 4 Or, ’ ’ he asked : 

“ Is fancy of a lover also she, 

Forever lost to you and me ?” 

“A Pegasus, in quest of a new-born poet?” 
she queried quizzically. 

The point whereto Raphael had effected his 
ascent afforded a view into the haunted district. 
There grazed no horse. The steepness of the 
rock precluded any attempt at descent. That 
anybody should ever have succeeded in such a 
climb was explained by the wonderful energy 
vouchsafed upon pressing occasions. 

From a remoter cliff, which Niobe had 
climbed far ahead of Raphael, she called out to 
him: 


147 


Unique Tales, 


“ Lo, what a beauteous specimen 
Of horse stands there exposed ! 

So white, so gentle as a lamb 
For rural picture posed. 

“ What animates it ? traces it 
A foe ? Each nerve aflame — 

Its neck half turned ; its stature doubly 
High, a lion to shame. 

“ A change from state of ire to gesture 
Of nobility : 

Thy voice it knows, it hears; as noble 
Man it waits for thee. 

“ Let toward it our way us wend; 

I long to tender it my hand. ” 


When she descended he called: “The cen- 
taur, I hope, hath no wings.’ ’ 

“What an unpoetic hope!” said she. 

“Fear, rather, that he might soar with the 
new poetess beyond my reach.” 

Assisting her further downward Raphael still 
murmured admiringly: “Even no foreign ac- 
cent in her poem’s recitation!” 

“Remember,” murmured also she (not with- 
out a smile), “Shakespeare, my progenitor, as 
well as Dante.” 


148 


Unique Tales* 


A toilsome detour brought them at last to 
the laurel bush, and there the faithful animal, 
as if having incessantly, confidently waited for 
him, saluted her friend with joyous neighing, 
at the spot where he had deserted her ; and to 
Niobe, evidently so attached to him, she 
stretched forth the elegant right hoof; where- 
upon lady and horse shook lily-white hoof and 
hand. 

Even in broad daylight were outlines of a grim 
warrior then traceable in the castellated rock. 

Raphael disappeared from the scene, to reap- 
pear on the height where a protuberance indi- 
cated a semblance of the giant’s ear. Into it 
the civilian anon hallooed: “Grow wise, mid- 
dle-aged man ! and fight bttt those of your age 
and awkward stamp!” which exhortation 
caused no end of merriment among the lovers. 

After this ceremony the enchanted forest 
was to be traversed. 

The mare following them, as if by agreement 
(at a polite distance), Niobe asked: “Have you 
a stall for her near your hut?” 

149 


Unique Tales* 

“I shall find a cot. ,, This lightly, with the 
expression, which had perplexed her before, 
and would soon be understood. 

The forest’s shady, caressing hospitability 
seemed little to differ from that of ordinary 
woods, save that each flower regarded the trav- 
elers with a certain mysterious pensive dreamb 
ness, as yet unknown to Niobe and Raphael. 

“Theirs dusk and dawn; 

The day our own — ” 

sang the poet, and, with day for helpmate, obr 
structions of all sorts were gracefully overcome 
by the three, as also the embarrassment touch- 
ing the mare’s passage over the river ; for the 
spirited being dashed into it, and kept pace 
with the boat. 

If kindly nymphs lent aid it was invisibly. 
How to reward or please them was discussed 
with humorous zeal, yet without result. Of 
flowers, weeds and webs they had plenty ; and 
what were pleasing to their palates, who knew 
150 


Unique Tales. 

until a midnight sail at full moontime might 
reveal? 

The sun laid his rays tenderly on the gentle 
horse; in prancing gait it accompanied its de- 
liverers. 


151 


Unique Tales* 


VI. 

A PARADISE. 

Upon entering a magnificent estate, whose 
exuberant borders had already attracted the eye 
from afar, Raphael was held back by the bride. 
Her finger pointed to a sign, “Private property,” 
upon a gate of extreme grandeur. Then he, 
embracing her, said smilingly: “Thine it is, 
sweet love, and mine; and where the sensitive 
willow beckons to us ” 

“How like a tree of heaven!” she inter- 
rupted, “so immaculate, so high!” 

“ — yonder glass-house,” he continued, “is 
our abode of joy.” 

Joy there henceforth lived indeed. Each 
room a token of, a promise for, halcyon days. 

Glass-house, a name equally well chosen, as 
that most extensive manor was so amply sup- 
152 


Unique Tales. 


plied with windows that from any standpoint 
views were granted upon manifold scenery — 
views upon discreetly distributed belvederes, 
their winding stairs entwined with trailing 
plants ; each structure at a select spot, among 
them an emerald pool, the fashionable resort of 
gold-, sun- and silver-fishes. Then again 
natural elevations displayed to view many a 
cascade, emitting pearls and opals — so sparkling 
the foam. 

Nearby many a meandering path (each path 
token of, promise for, halcyon days) was 
daintily bounded by frames of flower-bed pic- 
tures. Profuse array of beaming flowers : 

Sweet scents, from many climes 

Wafted, move Heaven’s chimes. 

Flowerage of rainbow bent: 

Highroad to Heaven’s tent. 

Fragrance and holy hue 

Soul-life with Heaven imbue. 


In the distance there towered groups of trees, 

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Unique Tales* 

denominated Monarchs of my Paradise by 
Raphael. 

And joy was no less the share of the many 
animals in the park. No beast of burden was 
suffered there — at least none from which the 
burden was not taken ; nor were the rural rail- 
ings, inclosing, within the vast one, many a 
separate park, erected for imprisonment, but 
for protection. 

Niobe’s black attire soon gave way to white 
as eminently adapted also to mourning, since 
pure white reflects the luminous raiment of the 
departed. 

Day by day disclosed a wife to be an invalu- 
able blessing; and the husband’s fear that by 
the bond of matrimony all other Madonnas 
would be distanced, was dispelled through the 
sociability of his attractive wife. 

“How queen-like is her appearance; and his 
— how like a demigod’s!” said friends of 
them. 

By means of her cultivation the artist had 
also learned that he could not reach his ideal; 

154 


Unique Tales. 


and that it could be approached in no better 
way than by artistic manipulation of their 
park. To it, then, he devoted his energies; 
procured choice plants (his paints he called 
them) from all parts of the globe, and assigned 
to each collection a special district then named 
after the beauties’ native country. 

Additions have augmented; and the map of 
this idealized world, this new Paradise, is 
rapidly being completed. 

Thus the brook which, with many an arti- 
ficial curve, runs through the whole estate, 
officiates as the Amazon, Danube, Niagara, ac- 
cording to the country that it fructifies ; ever, 
rippling or gushing, extolling the beauty of the 
new world. Tiers of precious stones hold the 
bridges, spanned over the rivers. Even where 
the brook narrows down to a brooklet there 
are bridges (these of bamboo), because in the 
haunts of birds and butterflies also abound 
elves, who not always care to fly. 

So pleased is Niobe with her new home that 
she cares not to return to the old one ; but dis- 
.155 


Unique Tales. 

posed of her rich inheritance, the proceeds being 
partly used toward a painting — in very natural 
colors — of the cypress- enshrined garden, in 
which Raphael found her; and in that part of 
Italy, with its jessamines and pomegranates, 
blooms their favorite arbor. 

How often they, with clasped hands, there 
remember the moment of their first meeting, 
and ever new words of love flow into such re- 
membrances ! 

A perplexing utterance, deeply engraven in 
Niobe’s heart, was that of nymphs who had of 
late floated round Raphael’s moonlit boat. 
“Love, love, O love!” had they entreated. 

Too indefinite this expression of theirs: yet 
how teeming with meaning. “Love, love! 
But whom?” had Niobe asked in the arbor. 

“Me, of course!” was the laughing answer. 

Then Niobe, in sober earnest whenever love is 
concerned, rejoined: “No, Raphael; they surely 
solicited for love more extended.” 

“Well, then,” said he appeasingly, yielding 
to her mood, “universal, helpful love,” which 
156 


Unique Tales* 


interpretation they adopted and act upon, in the 
hope that their good deeds may, if but in. 
directly, also reach their wreathed friends in 
the haunted river. 

No festive occasion the august couple, whose 
wisdom holds Paradise, allows to pass without 
also furthering the happiness of some of their 
dumb friends. 

Thus a purchase-order for the imprisoned 
eagle had been given, and the self-same cage 
was deposited in the park. The poor bird had 
but slightly grown. As heretofore, it again 
spread its wings, repeatedly hopping up against 
the wire, then falling back with a look pitiful 
to behold. But when Niobe had lifted the bar- 
rier — loand behold! — the eagle rose with joyful 
note, and triumphantly soared higher and 
higher. And on the following day (which 
was but yesterday) an olive branch descended 
from height unknown into the heart of 
America; an event no doubt gratifyingto deni- 
zens of that hemisphere. Celebrations these, 
betokening beautiful progress since the time of 
sacrifices. 


157 


Unique Tales* 

And upon this new world shine sun, moon 
and stars. Upon wickedness they indeed 
shine too, but only in order to expose and 
bring to justice. Over this Paradise, however, 
the Lights of Heaven love to linger, because 
they love Love and Peace, and are made happy 
by blessing both. 

And as Raphael and Niobe derive happiness 
from the joy they impart to others, the park 
has become a resort for many, all of whom there 
pass delightful times under the refining influ- 
ence of the language of Nature. 


158 


THE WAY TO WINGS. 



THE WAY TO WINGS. 

I Aeronauts 

Although one of the chief requirements of 
most narratives is undoubtedly a heroine, the 
absence of such an attraction in this tale is in a 
measure compensated for by the fact, that the 
leading events here truly presented are influ- 
enced by a woman — and this fact certainly 
sustains the theory of philosophers that 
woman is the moving spirit of all and every- 
thing in this world. 

Of the actors in the play on which now rises 
the curtain, there are but few, yet not fewer, 
perchance, than the average number of close 
associates among mankind, for the encom- 
passing medley of people is immaterial. 

Upton Valance, barely independent through 
inheritance, was a man in his thirties, of 
medium stature, dark-complexioned and 
-bearded, with regular features and black, not 
unkindly eyes, reflecting a mechanical mind 
replete with what, for want of a better name, 
l6l 


The Way to Wings. 

we shall call flightiness. If we except one 
other passion, it might be said that Upton’s 
aim and end in life was ascension by balloon 
or other aerial means, which should bring fame 
and fortune in its wake. 

Everything connected with flight had fas- 
cinated him since his earliest days. Stories 
about transformations into birds were inva- 
riably spoilt for him by the expressed desire 
of the enchanted to reassume human shape; 
and subsequent developments in the story ab 
ways pointed to Upton in favor of the bird- 
state, devoid of leaden soles. 

From juvenile books of this nature he had 
turned, with advancing manhood, to scientific 
treatises on methods of flying, and twice he 
had gone far to witness actual flight-attempts. 

At last he believed himself to have collected 
a complete library of literature aerial. In 
it, beginning with the study of each techni- 
cal term, he retraced the first structures of 
wings and balloons; in his mind he then fitted 
the discussed sections together, whereupon he 
endeavored to discover the reason for each 
aerial disaster. In this way he floated from 
theory into practice, convinced that he could 
master the subject. 

162 


The Way to Wings. 


When his own airship, which was being 
built privately, was well under way, a new 
volume, more intensely absorbing than any of 
the others, happened to fall into his hands. 
How entrancing was the introduction to the 
secret enterprise, which told of conveying, 
years ago, merchandise and people within 
eight days from New York to San Francisco 
and back. This was truly calculated to con- 
vulse the social and commercial world ! In- 
comparable words depicted the passengers’ 
sensations during that aeronautic trial-trip, the 
seen and unseen being equally wonderful to 
them aloft. In addition to all this, were the 
details of that balloon’s construction strangely 
meaningful to Upton. Indeed, each word of 
this masterwork, which he, ignorant of its au- 
thor, called his “Boswell,” impressed itself 
upon his memory. And when the narrative 
ended upon the collapse of the airship, through 
fire, though near its Californian destination, a 
feeling of regret befell Upton, for he felt as- 
sured that he could have discovered the de- 
fective flue and, had he been on board, would 
have averted the catastrophe. 

With all the attendant circumstances he had 
communicated this candid opinion to a friend, 
163 


The Way to Wings. 


who soon after surprised him by the offer to 
join, as correspondent, an intended similar ex- 
pedition. This plan, analogous enough, dif- 
fered from the former in some details. There 
were to be no other passengers, and, as soon 
as the American flag had been planted on the 
first Californian peak encountered, the balloon 
should return within astonishing shortness of 
time to the starting point and there openly 
proclaim the feat. Other airships should speed- 
ily be built on the same plan, and generous 
patronage of the new route with all its charms 
and advantages be solicted through a voluble 
press agent and promoter. 

Upton consented, it is true, but, when con- 
fronted by the formidable machine, whose 
lightness added greatly to its uncanny aspect, 
he would fain have withdrawn his promise. 
However, the thought of his infinite exertions 
toward this very end spurred him on, and he 
determined that his friend, the only person 
present to bid the balloon God-speed, should 
have no cause to accuse him of boastfulness. 

Hence Upton Valance swung himself nim- 
bly upon the rope-ladder and was seen by his 
friend to take his position near the two aero- 


164 


The Way to Wings. 


nauts. The balloon then floated out of sight 
through the unexplored regions of the air. 

As true mechanic, Upton first of all exam- 
ined closely each appurtenance and appliance 
of the balloon ; then he aided more than hin- 
dered the two masters by suggestive ques- 
tions. Assured on these points, he burst forth : 

“ ‘Heavens beneath, above us : we are floating 
among suns and stars, ourselves like one of 
their number !’ Boswelk” 

Before retiring, he said to the operator not 
upon guard : “How truly Boswell states, 
‘With all the smoothness of our running there 
is a certain quivering motion about our craft, 
suggesting’ — but we need no reassurances, are 
not quicksands also on the earth?” 

When in the morning he awoke, he reflected, 
“ ‘Nor evening glow, nor sunrise glory at such 
altitude, where stars and sun are pale, though 
unobstructed in the bluish ether — for this I 
was prepared, as also for the charm and beauty 
of these new conditions.” 

Thus passed a few days, to Upton far from 
monotonous, although without any view par- 
ticularly clear. When he once again retired 
for the night, he quoted in his sleep what, 


165 


The Way to Wings. 

if awake, he actually might have seen : 
“ ‘Emerged from twilight, I welcome ye, 
Rocky Mountains ! with peaks sparkling in 
snow or somber from age, in multiplying va- 
riety of chasms and glaciers and gorges as 
awful, as, to view again thy smiling verdure, 
O Mother Earth ! delights me,’ James Bosw — ” 

A violent shock threw him from his cot, and 
the truth flashed upon him. A squall had 
forced the balloon against one of those craggy 
peaks, and had turned and twisted the net- 
work around it, threatening to hold sailors 
and flag rock-bound, and there was danger of 
explosion. Athletes and rope-dancers, how- 
ever, as they were (and indeed every aeronaut 
should be), each one succeeded in disentan- 
gling himself. Two coils of rope were fortu- 
nately secured, as also, at neck-breaking risk, 
the ladder. They begrudged the airship every 
inch of cord, yet dared not sever any for fear 
of being overcome by the heavily-tossing ma- 
chine. 

The narrow rock was of solid granite, and 
its many fissures, dangerous in themselves, 
formed strongholds for foot and rope, and these 
were badly needed in the terrific wind storm. 


1 66 


The Way to Wings. 

The sun lent light and warmth to the toilers — 
and they were saved. 

To a discussion of future plans Upton did 
not stop to listen. Shaking hands with his fel- 
low adventurers, he simply said : “My corre- 
spondence, I admit, was but copy; but was 
this trip with its hope and failure other than 
an imitation of Boswell’s trip? And what more 
effective advertisement would you need, than 
the flag which hugs yon highest peak? So, 
gentlemen, we are quits.” 

And best as he could he sped home over se- 
cure land. 


1 67 


The Way to Wings. 


II The Unexpected Happens. 

The day after Upton’s arrival home, his 
confidential assistant, quite unaware of his re- 
cent adventure, informed the master that his 
balloon was completed. 

“What do you mean?” retorted Upton. 

“Plain fulfillment of your command, Sir !” 

Had not a number of restful nights benefited 
Upton, he might have received with less com- 
posure the additional report: “and being fully 
inflated, its immediate ascension is a neces- 
sity.” 

“Are all equipments provided?” asked 
Upton, on the way to the secret spot of em- 
barkation. 

“Ship-shape all, Sir!” 

This assurance was confidently taken, and 
he soon found himself once more floating in 
the air, this time himself the navigator, albeit 
without a set destination. 

Having progressed beyond the clouds, 
Upton felt like prolonging the experiment in- 
168 


The Way to Wings. 


definitely, but suddenly an unexpected ma- 
noeuvring of the machine, as if itself were the 
master, led to the discovery of considerable 
faulty equipment. Instantly the desire to de- 
scend took strong hold of him. 

At first there was a precipitate descent, 
mocking all calculation, until a safer, lower 
level made it possible to secure some control. 
Finally Upton selected a spot of meadow-land 
for anchoring. As the balloon neared the 
earth he adjusted his spy-glass, and, having 
espied a man near him, he descended. To cast 
anchor, hermetically to close the valves which 
so short a time ago were at least partly opened 
by his frantic efforts, to tie a knot and throw 
out ballast — all this was done in a few mo- 
ments. 

Doctor Anastasius Annat had just then 
opened the green-colored botanic tin-box 
which hung from his shoulder by a leather- 
strap. As short as Upton, he was somewhat 
heavier; a strong, beardless face was his, with 
large, frank eyes and a mouth which showed 
determination ; his nose suited that counte- 
nance well, and could as such not have been of 
the aquiline kind, like Upton’s. The blonde 
hair of Annat, in conjunction with those blue 
169 


The Way to Wings. 


eyes, shed a sort of mildness over this man of 
energy. 

More chemist than doctor, he had made the 
preparation of odoriferous essences, materials 
for scent-bags, and the like, his specialty; not 
overlooking, however, herbs, which he con- 
sidered as containing healing qualities. Of 
this latter genus may have been the peculiar 
plant which he was on the point of placing in 
the box, when the sight of the airship drew 
him thither. 

“Shall I be glad or sorry, Upton, to have 
discovered your secret?” asked Annat, with a 
peculiar smile and intonation. 

“You may or may not guard my secret, as I 
may or may not, yours ; both, the multicolored 
blossoms of the plant in your hand and its ex- 
traordinary, not to say offensive, odor may be 
remembered and their origin exposed, while 
secrecy as to its ingredients might stimulate 
the sale of your drug. But let this pass. I am 
right glad to meet you, Annat.” 

“My friend, you look troubled — the virtue of 
this herb may aid you hereafter; what service 
may I render you now?” 

“I admit,” said Upton, nonchalantly, “that 
with all the turning and twisting in the air, I 
170 


The Way to Wings. 


have wrenched my fingers. If you could dis- 
entangle that knot just above the deck, you 
would oblige me.” 

Annat viewed the knot from below and 
judged it to be simple. He climbed toward it; 
stood fairly on the balloon’s upper deck, and 
Upton, agile as ever, suddenly cut the anchor- 
rope. Like one ravenous for liberty, the bal- 
loon ascended with incredible velocity, con- 
scious of which Upton did not gaze upward at 
a speck in the sky which soon dwindled into 
nothingness. 

With satisfaction he reflected that a storm 
moved seaward and that he had sent his rival 
in love to so exalted a place as the Empyrean. 

Before, however, again accosting the fair 
Ulrica, he decided to let the storm blow over. 
The meantime he would improve by experi- 
menting in another direction, his first love, his 
other hobby, flying, in which art any machine 
should be subordinated to elastic personal 
stimulus. 


1 7 JL\ 


The Way to Wings. 


Ill A Circuit of Castles. 

“The Old succumbs — ■ 

New life emerges 
From the ruins.” 

From the Western hemisphere the scene is 
now shifted to the old world. There is a solitary 
rambler approached a wild mountainous re- 
gion. Spring was on the verge of summer, 
and it was certainly an inviting time to prom- 
enade. The emerging of people, at this earliest 
morning hour, from innumerable sidepaths, 
roused the pedestrian’s curiosity, for among 
the tourists there were villagers in holiday at- 
tire on this work-day. 

The main road wound around the moun- 
tains crowned with castles whose ruins 
frowned in somber, black-dotted gray. The 
traveler was just about to address a newcomer 
when, strangely enough, one of them steered 
directly toward him. 

“Good morning!” greeted the first rambler. 
172 


The Way to Wings. 


“Doctor Anastasius Annat is my name, pray, 
Sir ! use it with discretion.” 

“Agreed,” replied the other, “so truly as 
Batmore, my adopted name, admits of no in- 
discretion.” 

“Trust me!” assured Annat. 

“A bargain,” returned Batmore, “which 
means friendship at first sight.” 

Shaking hands, they scrutinized each other 
for a moment. In stature they were equals. 
Batmore, less young, looked delicate, refined ; 
waving hair bespoke the artist, while the vis- 
ionary was evidenced by his eyes. 

“Can you account for this early concourse 
of people in these wilds?” asked Annat. 

“Indeed, this is a holiday. To explain, I 
must in all brevity revert to the Middle-ages, 
with their practices ; one of whose most en- 
thusiastic devotees had been created an Earl 
for this very championship and loyalty to the 
Age. Sorrowing over the growing prevalence 
of modern tendencies, he passed away with 
the prediction that on a certain day the slan- 
dered Mediaeval Age should be manifested in 
its true light, and the passing of it be deeply 
lamented.” 

Annat’s surprise held him mute. 

173 


The Way to Wings. 

“As a so-called Universal Genius I have, of 
course, disappointments; no less speak your 
prematurely blanched locks — ” 

“Sooner or later,” lightly interpolated the 
doctor, “white comes to all.” 

“This, then,” proceeded Batmore, looking 
at his watch, “is the century, the year, yea, the 
hour set by the prophecy. Confidently I ex- 
pect its fulfillment; so let us, my friend, now 
forget our vexations and enter upon the full 
enjoyment of this occasion, which is to be 
blessed with the additional charm of uniting 
those thwarted in love in their day.” 

By this time they had reached the vast circle 
of the mountains, which was already bathed in 
a light signified by Batmore as too beautiful 
to belong to any Modern Age. 

Anon a splendid white steed, unbridled, un- 
harnessed, was espied on a precipice; the at- 
titude of the giant animal betokened that for 
it there was no halt — Imprinting its hoofs 
upon the granite, it plunged over the rock and 
rushed in impetuous course so near the two 
travelers in the meadowy vale, that they could 
see the fire and foam, and hear its stamping 
and snorting. 


m 


The Way to Wings. 


“Magnificent animal !” they exclaimed. 

And turning to his friend, Batmore con- 
tinued: “A disenchanting forerunner.” 

The glamour grew and tinted roseate a 
span of three horses, which, by striking sparks 
on the precipices, caused Annat to infer that 
the Age of Mythology was reawakened. 

“Not so,” rejoined Batmore, upholding the 
Last of the Earls, “you certainly will recog- 
nize the beautiful emblem of the Middle-ages 
over their foreheads, as these messengers 
sweep by announcing the near return of the 
beloved Princess.” 

Still more pronounced became the charm of 
the atmosphere, imbued with the smile of the 
sun over peak and dale, cascade and stream. 
The foliage partook of the delicate tints of 
early spring, and nightingales joined the larks 
in morning-song. 

A joyous outcry of tourists was heard in 
the first of a series of apparently isolated 
glens, when they beheld on the summit of the 
mountain chain, risen from the ruins, a radiant 
castle. And, on a near slope, where bubbled 
seven springs, stood seven knights in glisten- 
ing array. With sighs and tears they had 


175 


The Way to Wings. 

turned themselves into lamenting springs, and 
disenchanted, they now exultantly awaited the 
heralded Princess of their own Mediaeval Age. 

Meanwhile a snow-white horse carried the 
Princess over the cliff ; fain had he proceeded 
at a rapid pace, but his rider curbed him well, 
for much was to be done on the way. When 
the knights beheld her, in radiant white, from 
afar, they hied toward her and overwhelmed 
her with homage. This was duly acknowl- 
edged, and she asked them why they had tar- 
ried to meet their ladies. 

Whereto they made answer: “Our first sa- 
lute to the Princess, as representative of the 
Middle-ages !” 

Her deep obeisance called forth one from 
them, still deeper upon being addressed : 
“True men! Loyalty to the Age fortifies the 
homes of your loves.” 

Thereupon they parted, and each knight 
sought his lady, one of whom, like a flower of 
spring, was indeed seen waving on the nearest 
castle-balcony. 

Meanwhile the tourists had entered another 
glen of beauty, between the parallel moun- 
tains, each one adorned with a magnificent 
castle. Signals displayed by knight and lady 


The Way to Wings. 


to similar betrothed couples on the opposite 
castles spoke, by glowing colors, of unbounded 
happiness. 

A backward glance disclosed more anima- 
tion, as if the Princess distributed life from a 
horn of plenty, like Flora in spring. This at- 
tribute was enchantingly emphasized after the 
promenaders had been overtaken by herself 
and her charming train. 

Thus, on a ridge, a Mediaeval pilgrim wan- 
dered with a herd of placid white stags ; his 
quiver was arrowless. There the Princess had 
halted and said : “Behold the hunter, none 
other but a shepherd, in this our blissful Age.” 

One of the modern villagers, being asked 
why he wept, pointed to a home of Mediaeval 
bears. “How happy are parents and cubs at 
play!” burst forth the peasant; “how deep the 
love of bears toward each other! How harm- 
less they are if, as here, unmolested! Yet, 
only yesterday I ruined such a model family 
life by killing a mother-bear — ” Again in 
tears, he was warned to desist, lest he be 
turned into a spring as were the seven knights, 
for whatever different reason. 

Further along towered many castles like- 
wise aglow with festivities in honor of the 

m 


The Way to Wings. 

day ; and so variegated were the castle-gardens 
with lovers and flowers, that one could hardly 
distinguish between blue daisy and blue-eyed 
damsel. 

“Are their gay tournaments,” asked a young 
officer of his sweetheart, “not strange without 
the use of lances?” 

“Lances,” interposed one of the Mediaevals, 
who began to mix in with the pedestrians, 
“lances are for warfare ; we are for peace.” 

Some of the nearer castles admitted to view 
their lofty turrets of marble, illuminated by 
precious stones in faery combinations. 

No less notable was their archery, some of 
the velvet arrows gently joining the finery on 
modern bonnets. 

The ball-game on the heights began to ex- 
tend to the lower regions, yea, eventually 
reached the promenade. The charm of the 
balls, light as soap-bubbles and not less won- 
derful in coloring, was irresistible, and a Doc- 
tor Theologise, catching one and throwing it 
onward, exclaimed: 

“It is the best play that was ever devised !” 

“To what confession may these gay people 
belong?” asked a student, catching the ball. 


178 


The Way to Wings. 


“Let alone creeds !” laughed the Theologian; 
“Creeds have spolied too many games.” 

Jumping high in the air and landing, wig 
and all, on the mossy ground, a Professor of 
History shouted: “Is, save my somersault, 
this sport not greater than the Iliad and 
Odyssey, because here no lesser heroes enjoy 
the fruit of strife !” 

The surrounding wonders became so plen- 
tiful that they almost seemed to be common- 
place, as, when an iris by the wayside whis- 
pered to Annat, “Take me up by the root!” 
he did so, and the swordlily was transmuted 
into a courtly chevalier. 

The doctor asked Batmore to pluck the al- 
thea at the other side, which flower quite nat- 
urally developed into a diademed maiden ; 
whereupon, more naturally still, youth and 
damsel embraced each other amid transports 
of joy, and set forth to the castle, where every- 
thing was prepared for their reception. 

Annat still reminded the chevalier that he 
had forgotten the sword, but he, the disen- 
chanted, pointed to the blade of the lily at his 
side and stated: 

“This suffices for the needs of our Age; 

m 


The Way to Wings. 


needless to say, that my coat of mail, steel- 
colored, but not steel ; my gauntlets and 
plumed helmet, are worn only for the sake of 
elegance — ” 

“Like my spangles and sapphires and 
rubies,” smilingly supplemented the lady. 

The general drift, later on, was to a flower- 
enchased side path, which also conducted the 
two friends to a chapel, at whose arched 
gate a venerable King was accosted by the 
Princess. Holding her in close embrace, he 
praised the efficacy of prayer, and said: 

“So wonderful, my daughter, is Faith, that 
it createth circumstances ! This I knew, since 
the loss of thee induced my abdication, that 
thou wouldst be restored to me.” 

“A happy day,” exclaimed she, “no less for 
me. Oh, that my faith were such as to fore- 
see the return of him whom thou, father ! 
soothed by time, wouldst no longer oppose, I 
trow ?” 

The King rejoined: “Opposer, dear child! 
deem me not; well knowest thou that in this 
blest Age all interference is simply due to 
Circumstance.” 

At this instant a shout of joy, escaping the 
lips of the Princess, announced the arrival of 
180 


The Way to Wings. 


the Duke, her lover. His steaming black 
charger he confided to the groom with the 
words : 

“Let him enjoy the pasture for the rest of 
his days.” 

King and Duke exchanged a kiss of peace, 
and the lovers were at once in each other’s 
arms. 

A white-bearded priest performed forthwith 
the nuptial ceremony. This joyful news hav- 
ing been signaled, all on those Mediaeval 
mountains, then overspread with evening 
glow, partook in the festivity. 

Standing, with head uncovered, one arm 
lightly in that of his bride, the Duke surveyed 
silently the scene until he gave voice to his 
sentiments: “My own happiness being estab- 
lished, my first thought is amnesty. I have 
traveled far and near, but in vain have I 
looked for an offender. The castles, joyously 
aglow, are shorn of battlements. The palm of 
peace waves everywhere — ” 

The Princess then declared: “Verily is this 
a day of the Millennium instituted by Mediae- 
valism !” 

The sentimental tourists proceeded along 
the animated main road. Near the end of their 

181 


The Way to Wings. 


journey they were regaled by a unique sur- 
prise. Not far to one side they beheld a grotto 
surrounded by a crowd of their own kind. In 
a peculiar voice was uttered : “The Dark 
Ages were cruel ! — ” then followed loud 
cheering. 

A glance into the cave revealed such a glit- 
ter and glimmer of carbuncles, amethysts, em- 
eralds, pearls, that the speaker might have 
been taken for Apollo stepping forth from the 
sun; not so, however, by Batmore, who softly 
told Annat that before them stood no other 
than the Last Earl of the Middle-ages. 

A high helmet was on his massive head, and 
a gray beard spread out over the broad chest 
— spear in hand, sword, javelin, iron bolts at 
his side, bow and shield across, he stood there 
in a heavy suit of armor as if defender of the 
Age which was treasured up in concentrated 
form behind him. 

“Cruelty of Our Age!” he ejaculated; “All 
nonsense in modern schoolbooks — ” 

“Aye !” shouted the humoring modern 
people. 

“Speak of the Mystery of the Middle-ages — 
that may be more to the point — ” 

“More to the point!” acquiesced the crowd. 
182 


The Way to Wings. 


? 

“Did I not predict, centuries ago, that on 
this very day would revive the truth of the 
glory of the Middle-ages? Did you and do you 
not see it?” 

“Yes, indeed, all glorification.” 

“And do you regret that our Age has passed 
and been superseded by usages as damaging as 
ours were blissful?” 

Upon a loud affirmative answer, the gray 
Earl smiled, then laughed from sheer joy; and 
his tongue, tied so long, loosened and seemed 
desirous of continuous speech. He no doubt 
said very weighty things, but his laughter in- 
creased as he proceeded, and, with the clat- 
tering of his armor, obscured much of the 
speech. Yet now and then words were dis- 
tinguishable which alone made clear the sense 
of his zeal ; and these, among his roaring mer- 
riment, were: 

“Honesty — Truthfulness — ha, ha! — Faith- 
fulness — Justice — Dignity — ha, ha, ha! Mercy 
— Charity — Humility — ha ! Peacefulness — ha, 
ha, ha, ha! Loving Kindness — ” 

In this manner the virtues of the Middle- 
ages reverberated throughout the mountains, 
after sunset-glow and love-glow had died away 
and the castles had again succumbed to ruin. 

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” 

183 


The Way to Wings. 


IV Gifts. 

Once more on flat land, Batmore and Annat 
directed themselves toward an inn in the dis- 
tance. Their conversation touched the events 
of the day. 

“Yours/’ said Annat, eying his companion, 
“appears to be a nature replete with hypnotic 
power, influencing sight and hearing.” 

“Whatever my vagaries,” admitted the 
other, “I am a genius of strong convictions — ” 

“And of faith,” continued Annat, “strong 
enough, in the words of the King, to create 
circumstances.” 

The hostelry, cosy enough, was not quite re- 
assuring, to judge by the five guests in the 
dining-room. There were screens and cur- 
tains ; and Batmore, leaving the doctor to sour 
wine and stale viands, drew clandestinely near 
to the five who, engaged in whispers, looked 
like brigands. 

Silently returning to Annat, this friend ad- 
dressed him ; “To your frank remark that yoq 
184 


The Way to Wings. 


are a man of convictions, I owe you one 
equally frank — well, I am a man with a pur- 
pose, and, furthermore, am here in search of 
the castle ruins Dunderberg, where, according 
to confidential advices, is treasured a complete 
collection of torture instruments of the Inqui- 
sition.” 

“I protest!” laughed Batmore; “at least the 
Last Earl would say so — let those ruins alone, 
friend ! Meet me, secretly, tomorrow ere sun- 
set at yonder high-perched ruins ; there I shall 
show you treasures excelling those named.” 

Annat, while consenting, perceived an unde- 
finable change in Batmore’s countenance. 

“Till then I must leave you,” said the latter 
suddenly; “meanwhile be on your guard.” 


With many wishes for a good night, Annat 
was courtesied by the host and hostess into an 
apartment without bolt or key. After having 
mused for a considerable time in darkness, he 
retired. But being disturbed by creaking and 
whispering on the stairs, he thought longingly 
of the desirability of the Earl’s Middle-ages, 
and rose to take hold of the sword which the 
chevalier had left in his hands as a gift, with 
the reminder that its virtue would fail at mid- 
185 


The Way to Wings. 


night. However, the solid and inflexible sur- 
face of steel seemed to have yielded to the pli- 
ancy of a switch, and by the aid of his dark 
lantern he was surprised to discover in the 
sword’s stead a magic wand. Otherwise un- 
armed, he naturally wished for the impregna- 
bility of the room, as repeated efforts to force 
the door were heard. However, the charm ren- 
dered futile the continued endeavors to enter. 

It seemed that a renewal with heavier crow- 
bars was being considered — the clock pointed 
to one minute to midnight — How great, then, 
was his relief when upon the eventful stroke 
he heard the host thunder: 

“I will not break down my house and do 
murder for an uncertain quantity of gold !” 

The wife of the host bade silence, and it fol- 
loAved. 

Before supper-time of the next day, when 
Annat asked for his bill, both host and hostess 
expressed regrets at his departure. 

With unfeigned sarcasm the doctor then 
said: “Fain would I stay longer under your 
protecting roof, did duties not forbid me to 
enjoy its comfort.” 


Toilsome was the ascent on the castle-road, 

1 86 


The Way to Wings. 


which was mostly hidden b}' high-grown 
weeds and mouldering debris. What dreari- 
ness, in contrast with the splendor of the pre- 
vious day! 

The man with a purpose eyed a carnivorous 
fanged giant plant and the rock-clefts, which 
also would grasp and hold ; but, sighing 
“Deaths too instantaneous,” he passed by. 

Near sunset he found himself in the tangles 
of the dry moat, so he steered toward the di- 
lapidated draw-bridge and climbed up to the 
crumbling castle gate. There he obtained a 
view of a banquet hall provided with impro- 
vised chairs arranged around a table strewn 
with empty bottles and partly broken china- 
ware, suggestive of a recent picnic. The hall’s 
great height was betokened by the preserva- 
tion of part of an upper chamber, thus afford- 
ing a view of the skies. The rest of the castle 
tvas a ruin, whose gloom increased in the wan- 
ing sunlight. 

While scrutinizing all this, a voice, hollow- 
sounding in this desolation, broke the still- 
ness, “Halloo, doctor!” 

“Is it you, Batmore?” asked Annat, who, as 
may already have been inferred, was also a 
man of nerve. He queried, because that voice 


The Way to Wings. 


was screechy and partook of the unnatural 
spirit of the place. 

“Myself!” rang back, and Batmore himself 
appeared. Yes, it was undoubtedly Batmore, 
although undeniably uncanny in appearance. 

“Glad to see you, Annat, a man of your 
word!” he said. “None too soon you came — 
at sundown we shall have company. With this 
expectancy I have prepared for you these safe 
steps in the wall — laudable procedure in these 
ruins, I assure you.” 

Before the doctor had time to object or ex- 
press surprise, a rumbling, as if of wheels, and 
muffled voices, caused Batmore to warn him 
to remain silently passive in the only upper 
chamber intact. To it Annat forthwith re- 
paired, Batmore disappearing in another direc- 
tion. 


With utmost swiftness and secrecy the 
former five guests of the inn were seen to 
move to a cluster of briars, which hid a well- 
pit, and into it they unloaded their carts, ex- 
cept one filled with bottles and victuals. With 
these they made merry in the banquet hall, 


The Way to Wings. 


where silence soon yielded to riotous speech. 
The more bottles they emptied, the louder 
were proclaimed their heroic deeds resulting 
in the accumulated plunder, now safely buried 
in “our private Bank, the undiscoverable pit.” 

Ruffians they were, without even the one re- 
deeming points of bandits: picturesqueness. In 
the midst of their revel the hall began, and 
continued, to waver between darkness and 
moonlight, according to the pleasure of the 
scudding clouds. 

At length their bustle subsided, and breath- 
less alarm prevailed when the Unknown sud- 
denly pounced, with an unearthly screech, 
through the open into the hall, and, increasing 
in size, fluttered among them in moonlight and 
darkness. 

“Pandemonium !” screamed one robber, and 
decamped. 

“Worse than a dragon!” 

“The very Satanas !” cried still another ; and 
all fled in tumbling noises, from the castle 
grounds. 

Anastasius Annat had heard, seen, and won- 
dered. Fear remained unknown to him, even 
when Batmore stepped, considerably fluttered, 

189 


The Way to Wings. 


into the secluded chamber and confessed that 
he himself had impersonated the bat-monster. 

“Flying, you know, is one of the accomplish- 
ments of a universal genius.” 

“I knew not that it had yet reached this 
stage,” said Annat dryly. 

“Did you see their headlong stampede?” 
asked Batmore. “Flow drink shakes the nerves 
of the strongest ! But now, my friend, to busi- 
ness — ” 

“My business,” insisted the doctor, “are im- 
plements of the Inquisition.” 

“Their concealment in the ruins of Dunder- 
berg I know to be a myth. Each nook there 
is beknown to me, and to that castle’s best 
hiding-corner I now propose to transport, with 
your help, the booty buried in the well-pit on 
these grounds. No doubt you will assist?” 

“Most willingly,” responded Annat. “How- 
ever, ere starting, I desire to know each nook 
and corner available for punishment here ; you 
remember the promise which led me to this 
place.” 

“In my sense,” said Batmore, “it is fulfilled. 
H?re, besides, we have a dungeon, deep in the 
rock, and a marble slab to cover, to a nicety, 
a grave. There are niches, faultless for im- 
190 


The Way to Wings. 

muring; high-wrought hooks, available for a 
hangman — ” 

“All these,” rejoined the doctor, “are of no 
interest — ” 

“Hence, having absorbed the perquisites of 
this place, let us hasten to cart our loads, half 
of which be yours for your secrecy and pains. 
We will remove them to Dunderberg, whither 
leads, known only to myself, a secret subter- 
ranean way.” 

A precious find it was, of gold and silver 
bars, coins ancient and modern, jewels and 
gems, all conveniently assorted in bags. 

While advancing along the secret passage, 
Batmore began to enlarge on an ailment, 
which he stigmatized as the direst and worst of 
lasting evils that could befall man. More and 
more interested, Anastasius approved, and, as- 
sured of Batmore’s assistance, agreed to take 
measures toward inflicting that selfsame evil 
upon a man unnamed, but described. 

“Partly in order to find a cure for that afflic- 
tion,” confided Batmore, “I have crossed the 
ocean and anxiously waited for the one mo- 
ment in a decade — last midnight — when a 
wonder-flower with healing powers might be 
gathered. Overjoyed, I recognized it by its 

191 


The Way to Wings. 


glowing dewdrops; I beseeched its good of- 
fices, and, in sweetest accents, it answered : 

'Disease I cure, vice never — ’ ” 

"Which answers my purpose exactly,” as- 
sured Annat, and went on to relate his* good 
luck at the inn by virtue of the magic sword. 
“Did the gift which the althea left in your 
hands, benefit you, Batmore?” 

“Not in the least, the red dewdrop flower 
said ‘No/ ” 

“What was that gift?” 

“A key, rusty as the hooks in the hang- 
man’s castle.” 

“My friend, you err!” said the doctor 
alertly. “The key it was that prompted you 
to overhear the brigands and led to these, our 
righteous spoils. Where is the key?” 

“Gone,” was the answer. 

“Rather say, Batmore, you left it in the 
Treasury, which it opened.” 

In this underground passage they frequently 
met the baleful eyes of reptiles such as chame- 
leons, iguanas, and salamanders. 

“We surely are where dragons used to be,” 
said Batmore, with an apparent shiver. 

“Imaginary evils touch not me,” was all 
that Annat answered. 

192 


The Way to Wings. 


Batmore seemed to grow ill at ease as they 
advanced. His features became distorted, as 
in the former night. The skullcap, not having 
been removed, he pressed closer to his head. 
“Mine evil is upon me !” he sighed, “will- 
power can repress it no longer.” Wings, at 
that instant, forced back his mantle and car- 
riel him violently through darkness into the 
open, which was near. 


At a late hour Annat found quarters for the 
treasure at Dunderberg, whose accommoda- 
tions for the night, though hard, felt luxurious 
to one so over-fatigued. If there were noc- 
turnal birds, their song was lost on him. 

“And this you call secure?” asked Batmore, 
standing, in his original self, near the treasure, 
at an early hour. “Follow !” 

Only after having crept over many a ruin 
and through a number of dark vaults did he 
point out the hiding-place of his choice. 

“Although I do not like to acknowledge su- 
periority of any man — ” said Annat, in admira- 
tion. 

“ — — One must,” interrupted Batmore, 
“whenever Genius asserts itself;” and both 
laughed heartily. 


193 


The Way to Wings. 

A beautiful morning spread out over the 
world. As the friends deeply enjoyed the view 
from the castle-height, Annat reflected: “By 
good right Peacefulness should reign over the 
Universe. ,, 

“So it would,” suggested Batmore, “if there 
existed no Circumstance, as King and Earl 
might say. In order to avert suspicion, you 
would better leave the treasure’s charge to me, 
my nocturnal proclivities just fitting me for 
that delicate task.” 

The doctor gladly consented. 

“The other day,” said Batmore, “you stated 
your grievance to resemble that of the Count 
of Monte Cristo — ” 

“Extravagantly speaking, yes.” 

“Well, then, we have come a little closer to 
it : There lies your hidden treasure. Here” 
(drawing an addressed envelope from his 
pocket) “is the letter of credit in your favor. 
Now, thirdly, revenge.” 

“Revenge!” repeated Anastasius Annat; and 
they parted, the latter bound to the other side 
of the ocean, which he had crossed so invol- 
untarily. 


194 


The Way to Wings. 


V How to Find A Situation. 

With a portable part of the treasure on his 
person, Batmore converted the same into a 
good round sum, which he deposited with his 
bankers in a European metropolis, half of the 
amount to the credit of Dr. Anastasius Annat. 

Rich as Batmore now was, he chose his next 
step to be that of a man in need. “Somewhat 
like Caliph Haroun Alraschid, using the gath- 
ered secrets for the benefit of the state. Let 
us see,” he whistled to himself, clinking the 
gold pieces in his pocket, “what a universal 
genius can do in the line of finding a situa- 
tion.” 

“Wanted, An Errand Boy!” was placarded 
at a shop-window. 

“Nothing for me,” chuckled Batmore; 
“enough errands have I to make between here 
and Dunderberg.” 

“Help wanted in this Tailor-shop.” 

“No, thank you; a Jack-of-all-trades, I have 
fitted so many coats and pairs of trousers by 
195 


The Way to Wings. 

wadding at calves and shoulders, that my fin- 
gers prick me at the very thought of it.” 

“Greatly needed: A Drama, with a swing 
of Schiller ; and another equal to Shakespeare’s 
best.” 

“Easy enough,” commented Batmore, in 
good earnest, and noted the address for future 
use. 

“Wanted: A Mephistopheles in ‘Faust/ the 
Star being down with the mumps.” 

Batmore introduced himself and offered his 
services, informing the manager that he had 
begun his musical career with the church- 
organ and had dropped it as being too mechan- 
ical. Then he had turned from the piano to 
the more spontaneous violin, and had aban- 
doned the latter for the most natural of mu- 
sical expressions, the voice. Upon request to 
recite a soliloquy, he evidenced such perfection 
of tone and understanding that he was imme- 
diately admitted to the rehearsal. 

The audience regretted to learn the intended 
substitution for the Star, but at the very be- 
ginning their disappointment ceased, and, to- 
ward the end, when from tragic step and 
folded wings the actor rose in actual flight, the 


196 


The Way to Wings. 


enthusiasm became unbounded. This was 
given expression in such sentences as: 

“Oh, wie wunderschon !” 

“By Caesar’s ghost ! an’ that was fine.” 

And young ladies sang out, enraptured : 
“The Devil — Oh, how divine he isl” 


m 


The Way to Wings. 


VI Wings. 

Once more conveyed to America, we per- 
ceive a wanderer on a lonely moorland road. 
His name is Upton Valance; and he had al- 
ways liked secluded walks because they were 
less likely to disturb concentration of his 
thoughts on flying. 

As often as he thought himself to have pro- 
gressed, he found himself flung back to the 
starting-point of the art of flight. Thus, just 
now recurred to him the thought of drawing 
a comparison between man and bird : The im- 
petus of both might well nigh be the same; 
and wings and feathered arms, how much the 
same, and yet — 

Tired in body as well as in mind, he began to 
realize by the strangeness of the region that he 
must have wandered for a long, long time ; and 
it was a relief to him to espy a sort of habita- 
tion in the distance. So he hastened his weary 
steps, to find no tavern, however, but only a 
barber-shop with the showy signboard; 

198 


The Way to Wings. 

Boutique du Barbier et Coiffeur, 
Geminus Batmore. 

Desiring rest, Upton was quite willing to 
take it in a barber’s chair. In fluent French, 
then in Italian, he was asked for his com- 
mands. 

“I don’t understand your gibberish,” Val- 
ance answered. 

“Excuse me,” protested the barber, quietly; 
“only perfect language flows from my lips.” 

“No doubt,” soothed the client, “you are a 
clever linguist.” 

A smile brightened the face of the tonsorial 
scholar, when he rejoined: “The practical use 
of my philological knowledge delights me less 
than the ease with which my genius deciphers 
the most recondite hieroglyphs, sancrits — ” 

“To end a long story,” interrupted the 
listener, “I want my hair clipped and nothing 
more.” 

“Nothing easier,” said the facile friseur, 
proceeding to work, while his exhausted cus- 
tomer relapsed into his own favorite train of 
thought. 

“Do you wish, sir, pomade ‘Perfumery Doc- 
tor Anastasius Annat?’ ” 

199 


The Way to Wings. 

Upton started up, then faltered : “No, he is 
dead.” 

“Fame is immortal, like our souls !” was elo- 
quently emphasized in five or six languages, 
living and dead. 

“Done!” presently said the barber, handing 
a mirror to the client, as is customary to elicit 
an opinion about the work, which seeing, 
Upton started back. 

“Why,” cried Upton, beside himself, “you 
have shaved my crown!” 

“To be sure,” admitted the other, sedately, 
“I acted according to your order, ‘to be clipped 
and shorn.’ ” 

“ ‘And nothing more,’ I said,” came the 
angry reply ; “ ‘nothing more,’ so as to stop 
your speech.” 

(( Mille, mille pardons, Monsieur !” ejaculated 
the hairdresser, “my taking you for a prelate 
confirmed me in the malentendu. However, 
your nature is of the effervescent kind ; so are, 
consequently, the roots of your hair, and the 
fault will soon be covered. Meanwhile, make 
the best of your tonsure, my dear sir ! An ec- 
clesiastic is very, very honorable; or consider 
yourself a bald eagle, or equally noble — ” 

“If I could soar like an eagle — ” uttered 
200 


The Way to Wings. 


Upton, his intonation intimating that he were 
inclined to accept the inevitable. 

“If you care to soar — ” quickly resumed 
Batmore, “so sure as a bad turn deserves a 
good one, I will show you the way to the place 
where the secret which enables flight is di- 
vulged and wings are raised for you in a 
trice and he pointed out the direction, which 
led unmistakably to that place, called Wings. 


Upton set out in that direction. Never hav- 
ing heard of such extended moorland near his 
home, he felt himself strangely transported 
into a foreign country, the more so as the 
moor had imperceptibly changed into a 
swamp; and when he now and then scared 
away a bird, he found himself to be equally 
nervous. 

“What advantage,” he mused, “birds have 
over man by lifting themselves above dilem- 
mas !” 

Evening was not so very far off, and the 
path became alarmingly obstructed by bog and 
quagmire, the same as the swamp encroach- 
ments which had gathered behind him. He 
would have attempted to retrace his steps, had 
not the road suddenly taken a favorable turn, 
201 


The Way to Wings. 

and, again far away, an object like a guidepost 
jutted into sight. 

On it he read the significant words, “Way 
to Wings,” forthwith removing his suspicion 
that the barber had acted in bad faith ; and, 
when after some time he actually beheld a 
building, he became fully reassured, and re- 
joiced in the expectation of his desire’s final 
fulfillment. 

Soon, however, some peculiarity of the 
chimneys awoke in him the apprehension that 
he was approaching a crematory. Impression 
was confirmed by the high location of win- 
dows, and, above all, by the sequestrated po- 
sition of the edifice. When a nearer view dis- 
closed the roof to be thatched, and walls al- 
most crumbling like those of a very old coun- 
try homestead, Upton was utterly at a loss 
what to make of the affair. 

What, then, was his astonishment in reading 
over the porch the inscription: “Wings and 
Painting-Gallery.” 

Upon inquiry, he was told by the only per- 
son visible — an old man, who called himself 
painter and fowler — that the points of begin- 
ning flight were exemplified in pictures, prac- 


202 


The Way to Wings. 

tical application finishing the course in the ad- 
joining Hall of Wings. 

“For Furtherance of Science: Admission 
Free.” 

After having been asked to deposit hat and 
cane in an antechamber, Upton entered, not 
without misgivings. While rays of the sun 
still illuminated the outside world, once in the 
gallery, he there found himself enveloped in 
the last stages of twilight, whence shed he 
could not tell — certainly windows were no- 
where visible, and the door was locked, in- 
deed could not be detected. 

Yes, it was a very spacious gallery, filled 
with paintings. In the nearest corner the vis- 
itor espied, closely eyeing him, three owlets, 
apparently in an incubator, the questionable 
bearing of which on this place added to his 
bewilderment. 

Each painting represented a storm-scene, 
crossed by fowls on the wing, which storms 
developed in threatening vividness on each 
consecutive painting viewed. Ere long the 
wildly-depicted tempest tore loose from the 
crumbling walls, and, blowing up the dust on 
the ground of the gallery, there concentrated 


203 


The Way to Wings. 

into one black mass, carrying with it myriads 
of chattering bats. One of these, whether be- 
cause of the storm or from impulse of its own, 
pounced from a great height directly upon 
Upton’s shorn crown, imbedding itself deeply. 

“Did it strike?” hooted the three now full- 
fledged owls. 

“Struck!” came the many-voiced gnashing 
cheer. 

Overcome by horrible sensations, Upton 
sank senseless upon the storm-stirred ground. 


It was in a tidy little upper room in the Gal- 
lery-building that Upton awoke, after how 
many weeks or months he did not know. Be- 
fore opening his eyes he became aware of an 
odor, reminding him of the plant in the hands 
of Doctor Annat when Upton had set him 
adrift in the balloon. In his present condition 
the association was perhaps no great shock to 
him, when he perceived that selfsame doctor’s 
hand on the pulse of his own. 

“The tables are turned,” said Annat quietly 
to him; “this time / confide you to the air. 
Your deserts you have not, because I gave you 
204 


The Way to Wings. 

what you wanted. Now, that you have wings, 
be off!” 

Upton rose. Instinctively he pressed the 
skull-cap firmly on his head. Upon Annat 
he threw a glance such as only a bat can raise ; 
then, swiftly unfolding his wings, he flew out 
into the night, turned upward, swept round 
the chimneys through which the storms and 
trained bats may have been blown — The im- 
mense swamps lay before him. He was off 
to pass the night among his new kin on the 
top of a pine. 


Annat’s drifts in the high airs and subse- 
quent vow of revenge, which had turned his 
thoughts into channels virtually unnatural to 
him, had preyed upon his mind to such an ex- 
tent that one day he asked for admission into 
a sanitarium. 

“What ails you, sir?” was asked. 

“The days are all right,” he answered, “but 
the bats, with their aggravatingly incalculable 
flight, are quite troublesome in the night; 
therefore, I want a room with strong lattice 
windows.” 

As to Ulrica, so slender and so fair — hers is 
205 


The Way to Wings. 


a light-hearted nature, and to Upton she has 
recently said: 

“While I was never really in love with you, 
I perceive of late a change in you which makes 
you absolutely loathsome to me. The fagon 
which distinguished your attire, is gone. Your 
narrowing head you keep covered in my pres- 
ence, as if I had lost the right respect in your 
batlike eyes. I want no nondescript nose, 
nothing chattering, and certainly not a man 
with an annoying rival. No. A broad- 
browed, full-voiced, in short, a single-faced 
masculine man, is the kind I wish to marry; 
so to you, Upton Valance, good-by e.” 


Hence Annat also would have no chance 
with her. Of late there is perceptible in him a 
reaction, inasmuch as he reflects upon under- 
going the same punishment which he inflicted 
upon his rival. Considering that the Way to 
Wings would be the best way for him to atone 
for his sins, and whereas 

“Birds of a fur or feather 
Flock together,” 

206 


The Way to Wings. 


these two may yet amicably visit the world’s 
ruined castles and enjoy them more thorough- 
ly than should we who keep aloof when dark- 
ness overshadows or moonlight revives them. 


202 





NATURE TO THE RESCUE. 













NATURE TO THE RESCUE. 

I Wildwood. 

Tristam — young, yet old enough to have be- 
come the victim of experience, and, through 
the wickedness of men, to have drunk deep of 
the cup of bitterness — rode over hill and dale 
beside his cousin, Andrew Winsome, a young 
physician. The soft tints and odors of spring, 
the blossoms and birds delighted the heart of 
Winsome. His silent companion was indiffer- 
ent to his surroundings, and seemed sunk in 
deepest melancholy. 

The gloom which enveloped Tristam had be- 
come final and complete with the loss of his 
beloved Caroline, whom he ^fondly called 
“Caramanti.” Had he not wakened from a 
dreadful dream of seeing his betrothed “beau- 
tiful in death?” Had he not, on feverishly 
seeking her home, seen through the window a 
white-draped catafalque, and been met at the 
21 1 


Nature to the Rescue. 

door with the terrible words “Caroline is 
gone!” Instantly he had rushed away, refus- 
ing to allow anyone to speak her name to him, 
and desiring only to die. 

The city aggravated his gloom, so he had 
acquiesced in Winsome’s proposal to drive in 
search of a rural retreat. He, however, mani- 
fested no interest in the subject of their des- 
tination. 

A cottage beside a lake had first attracted 
Winsome, but with a glance from the hypo- 
chondriac to the dangerously convenient 
water, he urged his horse past the weeping 
willows. 

Toward evening they reached a habitation at 
the rim of a wooded region. A white-haired 
dame, attracted by the sound of wheels, stood 
at the door of the porter’s lodge. 

“May I have a few words with your hus- 
band?” asked Winsome. 

“I’m his widow, Sir !” was the reply. 

“I am sorry that he died.” 

“Don’t mention it. It was quite a relief,” 
quoth she, adjusting her tin spectacles. 

“And, dear Madam, how fares the Judge and 
his mansion?” 

“Dead, Sir! No soul in the mansion, save, 

212 


Nature to the Rescue. 


perhaps, souls of the dead.” This she said, 
firmly clasping her rosary. 

“And do you, so alone, feel at ease in this 
wilderness?” 

“I’m a hard nut to crack, Sir! Ask the 
squirrels !” pointing to a broom near the chim- 
ney. 

“Where is the mansion? We may rent it.” 

“Pass this orchard, Sir, and the tangle be- 
yond, and it is in sight — but I will accompany 
you with the keys.” 

Leaving the horse hitched to a tree, the trio 
set forth on foot; Tristam walking mechan- 
ically, Winsome with sprightliness, the widow 
hobbling. 

The once handsome mansion, old, isolated, 
surrounded by time-worn evergreens, formed 
an ideal picture of a haunted house. Behind 
a half-opened shutter, threatening gestures 
seemed directed against Tristam, the intruder. 
It might have been the shadows of the trees 
playing pranks on the windowpane. 

Tristam sank into the easy-chair brought to 
the piazza, and fixed his eyes on the ground, 
and made up his mind to make the mansion 
his home. Wishing to be alone, he would 
have his way here. Winsome would sign the 
213 


Nature to the Rescue. 

lease in the village ; the widow would receive 
fair remuneration for attending to the inva- 
lid’s room in the mornings and serving three 
frugal meals a day. 

As the party inspected and aired the house, 
Winsome made some explanations and sugges- 
tions to the old lady. 

“Let me alone for that,” she answered, “I 
have mother wit and tact.” She nodded her 
head and winked knowingly at him. “My 
name’s Mrs. Crutch, but it belies my condi- 
tion, for I can hobble well enough without 
Crutch.” 

Tristam maintained his mirthless apathy, 
but Winsome’s hearty laugh elicited the wid- 
ow’s remark: 

“I often make people laugh if they succeed 
in drawing me out.” 

Winsome’s parting words to Tristam were 
apparently unheard, certainly unnoticed. As 
he passed out, he glanced at an old-fashioned 
hat and quilted dressing-gown which had be- 
longed to the Judge, and he caught himself 
wondering whether an apparition would have 
any effect upon the morbid starer in the easy- 
chair. 

When Tristam’s supper had been served to 
214 


Nature to the Rescue. 


him in silence, the doors provided with keys, 
match and candle placed on the table, his 
bed put in order, Mrs. Crutch went away, 
leaving him in complete isolation — at least 
from human beings. The birds twittered for 
a while in the gathering dusk, but soon silence 
and darkness reigned supreme, inviting the 
solitaire to rest. 


215 


Nature to the Rescue. 


II Experiences. 

Late the next morning, Tristam descended 
to the dining-room to find a meal prepared, 
but there was no trace of cook nor serving- 
maid. Ignoring the table, he dropped to the 
floor and gazed passively at the ceiling, til? 
disturbed by the whisking of something like 
a feather duster across his face. Two squir- 
rels sprang upon the table and sat there 
gravely as if waiting to serve him. Curiosity 
forced him to arise and take a seat beside it. 
His little visitors allowed him to caress them, 
frisked about the table, each nibbling a bis- 
cuit, and then came to his side, offering some 
to him. 

After breakfast Tristam could not quite re- 
gain the apathy which was satisfied with star- 
ing at floor or ceiling. He wandered out of 
doors. 

Was it the young man’s passiveness that 
fascinated a drab-colored pair of winged sing- 
ers? Their flight extended from a high flower 
216 


Nature to the Rescue. 


vase planted in the ground, to the fragrant 
garlands round the trelliswork, where the bees 
hummed. While humming-birds and bumble- 
bees paid but passing visits, the drab, red- 
chested pair fluttered day by day in Tristam’s 
proximity ; yet in spite of their sociability, and 
of his treating them to a casual crumb, they 
withheld a secret from him until he should 
have been more tested. 

Toward the east was the apple orchard 
abloom, and the air was fragrant. One day he 
had the easy-chair moved to the small ve- 
randa facing it. Sometimes the invalid so far 
forgot himself as to descend to the pump for 
a drink. The water was shared by the winged 
inhabitants of the thicket. 

A spider claimed his attention one morning, 
by beginning to weave her embroidery be- 
tween the portico pillars. To avoid destroying 
this feat of architecture, he made a detour to 
reach a green bench beneath a tree; there, el- 
bows on a rustic table, he would pass hours 
with his face buried in his hands. 

The next day the spider was gone, perhaps 
disgusted with his phlegmatic neighbor. 

One day Tristam questioned himself. Was 
he pleased with his own ways, or would he 
217 


Nature to the Rescue. 

not better mend them? This was a new 
thought. He looked upward, and followed the 
flight of the June clouds. They took the form 
of. a triumphant host on the way to the Celes- 
tial City, and among them was Caramanti. 
Glory upon glory drew Tristam, as Divine 
Love will verily absorb all at the end of all 
things. 

A sense of contentment followed this wak- 
ing dream ; then came the bliss of restful 
nights, days of restful seclusion amid the busy 
life of Nature’s own. 

Presently the two companionable birds dis- 
turbed the quiet by agitated chirping. Then 
lo, a fluttering animated the foliage, and three 
little birds, just out of the nest, perched on 
his table. Delicate drab color, with a pink 
spot on the chest, betrayed their parentage. 
Slightly turning their tiny heads, they peeped 
at him lovingly. When a wee chirp from each 
one of them saluted him, his heart went forth 
toward them ; and gently he stroked each one 
of them amid effusions the most endearing. 
They flew off with a merry farewell chirp. 

He began to watch birds, in the fond hope of 
seeing again some member of the flown family. 


218 


Nature to the Rescue. 


Perhaps the joyful flights were teaching him 
the unnaturalness of moping. 

Thus passed many a day in peaceful mo- 
notony. Mrs. Crutch came and went noise- 
lessly, and no human stranger invaded Tris- 
tam’s premises. A beautiful white cat and a 
glossy black setter also visited him daily. The 
cat would purr and rub herself against him, 
while the dog licked his hands and looked 
longingly into his face. But Tristam seldom 
responded or noticed them. 

Spring had done her part toward trying to 
revivify Tristam, but he still clung to de- 
spondency and easy-chairs. Summer now 
spread her riches, and would have him notice 
her nasturtians and passion flowers. The air 
was a bath of fragrance, and the trees took on 
a demeanor of stalwart gayety. He had never 
summoned energy to view that sublime spec- 
tacle, a sunrise, but when the setting sun 
gilded the meadows he compared them to Ce- 
lestial Fields, and thought of Caramanti. 

Sometimes in the night he would wake to 
the sound of a clattering gallop, and then a 
patter as of footsteps in the hall. But there 
was never a horse nor a man to be seen. Mrs. 


Nature to the Rescue, 

Crutch might have explained this to him, but 
he never questioned her. 

One morning, after hearing the clattering 
gallop, curiosity led him to the deserted stable. 
As he passed the empty row of stalls he heard 
voices. Hastily stepping forward, he came 
upon two beautiful creatures. The small one 
in green must have been a fairy, and the one 
in white an angel. At sight of him the fairy 
instantly flitted through the broken door of the 
stable, and the angel followed more slowly. 
By the time he had recovered from his sur- 
prise and sought to follow them, they had dis- 
appeared. 

On returning to his breakfast table, Tristam 
was surprised to find the fairy his vis-a-vis. 
He could not mistake the gauzy green dra- 
peries and the gay innocent smile. But she 
spoke no word, and he knew not how to ad- 
dress her. He offered her some berries and 
cream, as the daintiest fare at his command. 
They were graciously accepted, and, as soon as 
they were disposed of, the visitor flitted away. 

Mrs. Crutch had made no allowance for 
company, so Tristam ate no berries that morn- 
ing. Why should he not get his share of 
fruit, like the birds, from the tree? 

220 


Nature to the Rescue. 


The apathist arose and made his way to the 
trees, picked a cherry, and ate it. 

Tristam emerged from under the trees and 
stood in the field. This was his first venture into 
the open, beyond the grove that surrounded 
the house. So these were the Celestial Fields ! 
If he could meet Caramanti here, or even An- 
gela ! Somehow, he seemed to feel more 
human than before. What good deed could 
he do to bring them to him? 

The peacock strutted by, spreading his tail. 
Suddenly Tristam remembered what it was 
that the angel had said that morning: “Black 
Uncas has sworn he will poison the peacock !” 
The beautiful bird was just stooping to peck 
at a green apple, which laid on the ground. 
Tristam snatched up the apple, throwing down 
some cherries instead. The apple seemed cov- 
ered with a green powder. Then he had 
saved the beautiful bird, and Angela would be 
pleased. He walked quickly back to the house. 
Is it possible he smiled? 

A few days later Tristam was rejoiced by 
the sudden presence of Angela and the Fairy 
at his dinner-table — Angela arrayed in blue to 
match the heaven that spoke out of her eyes, 
her flowing auburn hair held back by a golden 
221 


Nature to the Rescue. 

band ; Fairy in light green, borrowed from Na- 
ture ; and both were adorned with flowers. 
Too surprised, too moved was Tristam to find 
a suiting word. Without partaking of another 
morsel, he placed each dish before his guests. 
In a strange and melodious language these 
conversed with each other in accents as tender 
as themselves, while the divine eye of the one, 
the innocent smile of the other, shed light over 
the table. Before Tristam could summon the 
courage to ask them any questions, they 
smiled farewell and were gone. 

Instead of wishing to die, Tristam began to 
look forward day by day, hoping for some- 
thing to happen. 


222 


Nature to the Rescue. 


Ill A Serenade. 

One night Tristam arose to open the blinds 
of his sleeping apartment. There he stood like 
one transfixed. The bright moon showed 
without a fairy-dance, and his friends Angela 
and Fairy were among other nimble perform- 
ers. With joy his eyes hung on each surpass- 
ingly graceful motion of his particular friend 
in blue. How he longed to speak to her, to 
take her by the hand! A distant clatter broke 
the midnight stillness, and gained on the 
hearer until the well-known gallop-sound be- 
came rythmically audible. With the ferocity 
of the hoof-beats increased the pulsations of 
his heart. 

On the left of the leafed enclosure a steed 
came to a sudden halt, and the bold rider, who 
had swung herself off in an instant, at once 
joined the others in the interrupted dance. Her 
approach was taken as an every-night occur- 
rence. The horse stood immobile, his fiery 
eyes chiefly watching his young mistress. 

22J 


Nature to the Rescue. 

Somewhat less small than her companions, and 
less lithe, she might be taken for a gipsy, 
namely: gipsy-queen rather than a fairy-queen 
— a supposition strengthened by her fantastic 
ruby-colored attire. A few strains of music 
from a mandolin in the hands of a nymph en- 
chanted the enchanters, who betook them- 
selves to seats on branches, while the player 
on the rustic bench evoked from her instru- 
ment the sweetest melodies. 

Two toads, seen only by Tristam, were at- 
tracted by the music; nor could a tiny hare, 
perched among the creepers on the pillars of 
the veranda, resist its charm. He sat there a 
picture of emotion; the soft front legs half 
lifted, half reclining, with ears pricked up in 
close proximity to Tristam. Out for those 
ears he reached; but lower, and still lower, 
must he bend in order to achieve the fascinat- 
ing task. Stretching downward still further, 
he took firm hold of one of the blinds with 
the other hand, when dash! slap! bang! — the 
twelve slats of the blind gave away. The 
music was silenced, the enchantment broken. 
The clatter of hoofs was heard again, reced- 
ing fainter and fainter into the distance. Then 
the moon disappeared behind a cloud. 

224 


Nature to the Rescue. 


IV Whisperings 

On succeeding nights Tristam wandered 
abroad, wooed by the beauty and strangeness 
of nature by moonlight. In the profound hush 
he knew the whispers carried by the wind for 
the converse flowers. Silent figures of giant 
and dwarf, and at one point a crouching wild 
boar stood beside his pathway ; but unmo- 
lested he was allowed to pass until he reached 
a moss-grown knoll, where he sat beneath a 
spreading tree to rest. By the flowing moon- 
light he saw opposite him two figures, tall 
and slim, bowing to one another, and then 
whispers reached him. 

“How ghostly they are!” thought Tristam. 
“What matters it to me who cares not what 
becomes of himself?” 

He watched them gesticulating, shadowy in 
the moonlight; then closed his eyes to listen. 
Was it of melancholy they were speaking? 
Were these graceful creatures despairing like 
himself? Was one saying, with wringing 
225 


Nature to the Rescue. 


hands, that the fruit of melancholy is perdi- 
tion, and the other, with backward toss of 
stately head, that through melancholy one may 
reach perfection? Then a cloud came over the 
moon and they disappeared. 

The next afternoon Tristam traced again the 
course of his midnight ramble, eager to find 
some vestige of his ghostly friends. He was 
in the right path, for here were giant and 
dwarf indeed, the one a great bowlder and the 
other a stunted tree; and here in a defile, 
dusky even in daytime, was the wild boar 
which had seemed to dispute his way in the 
night — a close, wild tangle of juniper and bay. 

At last he reached the knoll, which he re- 
membered by the clump of birch trees. Oppo- 
site were two tall, slender figures, which must 
be the twin sisters of last night. They proved 
to be imperial lilies, named “fritilaries” in bot- 
any. A sensation of pleasure stole upon him 
at this find, and he gazed at them long, repeat- 
ing to himself their night colloquy. 

More and more he began to understand the 
flower talk and the whole forest symphony. 
To bestow happiness constituted their happi- 
ness, and this joy might be his own. 

As the days passed they began to shorten, 
226 


Nature to the Rescue. 


the flowers to fade, the fruit to burn red and 
golden on the trees. Cold evenings kept him 
indoors, and away from nature gloom seized 
upon him again. From delicate hints Nature 
turned to more forceful methods of expres- 
sion. 


227 


Nature to the Rescue. 


V A Storm 

Of the raindrops long withheld, great tor- 
rents were in readiness on a quiet, sultry 
morning. The triumph of the Celestial Host, 
which Tristam had witnessed, was not to re- 
main an eternal triumph. The rebellious army 
was now on the march against the Citadel on 
High. In black compact masses it stormed 
forward, relying on strength gained since de- 
feat. Ere night it was to invade the enemy’s 
realm. Impetuously it advanced, the roar and 
flash of its black cannons tearing the quivering 
air. Blackness covered the sky, and then de- 
scended the flood. For three days and nights 
the storm raged around the old mansion; then 
the clouds broke and fled, and the welcome 
light gilded everything once more. 

“Hail, Nature!” then escaped Tristam’s 
lips. “Hail, Zion victorious !” 

Canned food had formed his subsistence dur- 
ing this period, and he had made good use of 
the kitchen range. By some means the pea- 
223 


Nature to the Rescue. 


cock had managed to paddle to the mansion. 
Was it because he considered Tristam his de- 
liverer from Black Uncas, that he showed so 
much affection to him? The cat and the dog 
were also with him. He fed these creatures, 
wondering at the same time if he had not 
duties to perform also toward his fellow men. 
He, on the height of Wildwood, asked him- 
self if the lower-lying regions might not have 
been flooded during the deluge, or some other 
catastrophe had not come upon it. Not with- 
out concern, he turned toward the lodge, won- 
dering how Mrs. Crutch had fared. With in- 
terest he also speculated on the change which 
the tempest had probably wrought on the veg- 
etation as well as the insect life on land and 
in the swollen waters ; in what manner the my- 
riads of animals, now flooded out of their 
homes, would go to work when building safer 
quarters for themselves and their supplies. 
Strange thoughts for the recluse, but salutary. 

On his way to Mrs. Crutch Tristam waded 
through the apple orchard, now converted into 
an aquatic flower bed, wherein prospered the 
toadstool, and bathed the frog and turtle. Mrs. 
Crutch and her nephew were then inspecting 
the damage done to her homestead. 

229 


Nature to the Rescue. 

“Welcome !” she cried, saluting him of the 
mansion. “Welcome you, like the youth forth 
from the castle where he could not learn to 
shiver, and thereby had gained the hand of a 
princess !” 

Tristam actually smiled. “Princess” was 
the name of the beautiful white cat which al- 
ways accompanied him. Often had he asked 
himself: “Is she enchanted ?” 

“I’m sorry,” continued Mrs. Crutch, “that 
the clover field of the fishes was impassable 
for me. Glad that ghosts don’t eat and your 
larder was supplied with a week’s rations. I 
have just been building up my chimney and 
health, and in a day or two hope to resume 
work at the mansion.” 

If Tristam made no verbal answer, his eye 
seemed to her a trifle less apathetic. 

Leaving Mrs. Crutch, Tristam continued his 
wading way, enjoying, actually enjoying, this 
novel mode of progression. He inspected the 
grounds. The knoll of the fritilaries was 
reached, but, to his sorrow, one of the sisters 
was withered and beaten to the ground. He 
had thought of her likeness to himself, and 
now his own skeleton confronted him. He 
shuddered, and Nature welcomed his return- 
230 


Nature to the Rescue. 


ing sensibility. Was this the fruit of melan- 
choly unresisted? The other sister had grown 
to magnificent height. Did this mean that 
melancholy struggled against was the road to 
gain perfection? He would be a convert to 
such aspiration. 


Nature to the Rescue. 


VI The Rescues 

That night Tristam was awakened by a 
shout, and heard once more the sound of ap- 
proaching hoof-beats. Louder and louder they 
became. He thought there must be a troop of 
horses beneath his window; a wild shout 
reached him : 

“Up ! up ! to the rescue !” 

Hurriedly Tristam donned a few necessary 
vestments, and appeared on the porch. Gipsy, 
on her steed, had just reached the mansion. 
Another horse bore a rider whose slouch hat 
concealed his face. With them was a third 
horse, jet black, riderless. 

Coming to a momentary halt, the riders 
cried: “Angela is in Black Uncas’ hands. 
Up ! to the rescue !” 

The words staggered Tristam, then roused 
him to the necessity of the occasion. 

“The angel child in danger?” he murmured, 
then leapt back into the hall. . . . Cloak 

and hat were missing. The horses stamped. 

232 


Nature to the Rescue. 


More vehement grew Gipsy’s call : “To horse ! 
To horse without delay!” 

There still hung in the dark hall the Judge’s 
black dressing-gown and his old-fashioned 
silk hat. Tristam threw them on. 

Then he hastily snatched from a pantry, 
where he had seen a bayonet, a scythe. Thus 
hastily equipped, he swung himself like an ex- 
pert horseman — that indeed he was — into the 
Mexican saddle on the tallest charger, of jet 
blackness. 

To the sombre settlement of the Barbarian 
the three rode in silence and furious haste. 
Wildwood soon lay behind them. A looming 
landmark was an oak of monstrous trunk and 
ramifications on the border of legendary 
grounds, feared by the conscience-smitten, fore- 
most among whom was Uncas. Beside super- 
stitious awe, his mortal enemies, the owls, 
caused him to shun the dark ravine. Their 
haunt was adjacent to the haunted oak. Gipsy 
was their friend, and upon hearing her war- 
whoop — which was their own — they joined the 
cavalcade in wild flight. 

Uncas stood in deadly fear of the Judge, re- 
puted to still walk the earth. Now at the 
door of his hut stood he, the Barbarian, strain- 
233 


Nature to the Rescue. 


ing his eyes in the hope that only the Wild 
Huntsman and his train were chasing that 
night — a harmless apparition in pursuit of 
some forever fleeing game. 

The longer Uncas stared, the shorter be- 
came the distance between him and the ob- 
ject of his observation, until his fear turned 
into the conviction that the foremost rider was 
either the Judge himself or Death in its most 
awful form — in the garb of the Judge. 'How 
glistened the sharp edge of the scythe ! 

More and more threatening became the 
clatter of the hoofs. There was no time for 
consideration. Whatever preyed foremost on 
his conscience must be produced as expiation, 
and this was Angela. Unlocking the door, he 
drew her from his log cabin, and, shoving her 
outside the gate, implored: “Unharmed I de- 
liver her up ! Oh, spare me yet this time !” 

By this time the black steed, with its rider 
in the Judge’s costume, had left its compan- 
ions far behind. Uncas fled in the direction of 
the swamp, pursued by the Avenger. In blind 
haste he penetrated the underbrush. From 
hummock to hummock he leapt; but, harassed 
by horned owls, he sank in the voracious quag- 
mire. The Avenger halted at the edge of the 
234 


Nature to the Rescue. 


morass and returned to the hut, there to be 
warmly welcomed by his friend Winsome — no 
other was the cavalier with the slouch hat. 

Angela had passed unharmed through her 
ordeal. She warmly thanked her preserver. 
Then she was helped to a seat beside Gipsy, 
and the riders, silent no longer, proceeded to 
her home in the village. 


Nature to the Rescue, 


VII Light 

This was the house of Tristam’s landlord, 
and soon much else was made known to him. 
When signing the lease Winsome had inter- 
ested the whole family in their unfortunate 
tenant, and when he thought himself forgot- 
ten, he had been watched over; lovely, akin to 
heavenly messengers, carrier pigeons, having also 
rendered valuable service. 

Landlord and lady took Tristam cordially 
by the hand, with heartfelt thanks for his 
service that night; and rejoiced in his assur- 
ance that he was cured. 

The girls merited the names he had fanci- 
fully given them. Angela was an angelic crea- 
ture, Fairy a dainty sprite, Gipsy a courag- 
eous and noble girl, friend of man and beast 
alike. It was her habit to surround herself 
with many pets trained to her liking, and she 
had consented to send some of them to the 
mansion — the dainty cat, the affectionate dog, 
and the frisky squirrels. Her black horse, at 
236 


Nature to the Rescue. 


a word of command, would start riderless and 
make a circuit of the mansion by night. 

That the moonlight dance had been intended 
for Tristam, has no doubt been divined. To 
the actors who loved to mystify themselves 
and others, it had afforded more enjoyment 
than would have any other comedy; and Tris- 
tam’s spontaneous display of humor in it — an 
indication of his return to a normal condition 
— made that night adventure a happy remem- 
brance. 

Tristam and Winsome bade adieu to the re- 
united family, and together returned to the 
mansion on the hill, to sleep, if might be, the 
rest of the night. 

“You are cured,” said Winsome. 

“Yes, I am cured, and many things come 
back to me ; yet I almost fear to ask about the 
greatest.” 

“Did you hear the last words I spoke on 
leaving here?” 

“I remembered them afterward, like words 
spiritual — ‘Caroline lives !’ I thought she 
lived among the Celestial Host.” 

“She lives in the world.” 

“Then my dream was false. But I saw the 
catafalque — ” 


23Z 


Nature to the Rescue. 

“ ’Twas but the scaffolding of decorators 
with their clothes hanging round it, which 
your feverish fancy mistook.” 

“And those dreadful words, ‘Caroline is 
gone/ — her mother spoke them.” 

“But you did not let her finish. Caroline 
had but gone on a visit. She returned. You 
would not let anyone explain to you. Caro- 
line has suffered also. Here is a letter from 
her which I was to give you when you re- 
turned to your right mind.” 

“And when can I see her?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

Winsome, good fellow, faithful friend, de- 
serves all praise. It was he who, finding his 
cousin inaccessible to reason, had proposed 
the “nature cure,” scoffed at by the old fogy 
family physician. Anxiously he had watched 
over his cousin from a distance, and on the 
morrow he would restore him to his parents 
and his Caramanti. 


238 


MY DOG SCHNEIDER. 













My Dog Schneider. 


MY DOG SCHNEIDER. 

Although in my youth I did not (nor do I 
yet) care for imaginary nonsense, I must ad- 
mit that legends exercised a sort of fascina- 
tion over me, and save, perchance, a few which 
I may be destined to narrate at some future 
time, none held me so in thrall as that of Rip 
van Winkle, from the moment of his myste- 
rious disappearance until his return to the 
crumbled homestead under most bewildering 
conditions. The strange circumstances of his 
uncourted sleep in regions of rare boldness 
and beauty, lingered in my mind, and I was 
seized with the desire to tread the wild, ro- 
mantic heights which he had trodden ; to 
search for the couch which was his for so 
many years. 

Some months ago a lull in my affairs seemed 
to favor a pilgrimage to the “hallowed slum- 
ber-spot. ,, My friends, who knew me only as 
a dry, matter-of-fact business man, could not 
understand what allured me thither, and I did 
241 


My Dog Schneider. 

not deem it necessary to explain it further than 
as a rest from figures, from which, together 
with the mere mention of dollars, I deter- 
mined to swear off for a week. 

Provided with two hundred indispensables, 
I discovered that I should need something fur- 
ther for incidentals. So I hurriedly telephoned 
to my friend, the bank teller. 

“Dick 1” 

“Obedient !” 

“What is the balance of my traveling ac- 
count?” 

“Hold the wire—” 

My traveling account represented about a 
hundred frustrated traveling projects, each 
bank deposit having been accompanied by a 
soliloquy to the effect that at some later time 
I should do it all up in one, together, maybe, 
with the erection of a villa on top of Mont 
Blanc, Chimborazo, and similar little hills. 

“Hello !” 

“Well, Dick?” 

“A balance of one hundred thousand and 
sixty-eight dollars to your credit, sir !” 

“Will you bring me the odd sixty-eight for 
incidental services? At four I’m off for a 
week in the Catskills.” 

242 


My Dog Schneider. 


“Obedient!” 

Dick poured sixty-eight cumbersome, brand- 
new silver dollars onto my table, knowing 
full well my aversion to the silver standard. 
He no doubt expected a great deal of diver- 
sion from my outburst of passion at his joke. 
However, as I had learned that imperturba- 
bility masters critical cases, I simply thanked 
him for so many serviceable anchors in those 
perilous regions. No more silver dollars have 
been since then transported by Dick to my 
quarters. 

As I sped on my journey I thought over the 
legend that had so long stimulated my imag- 
ination. What was there in it, after all? I 
must once for all overcome any childish pre- 
dilections. I would commence now, and, in- 
stead of indulging my vagaries, would gather 
the real facts of the story of Rip van Winkle, 
and bring home a precious prose tale, replete 
with the undeniable — the indisputable. 

Presently we came to an unaccountable 
stop, and, upon investigation, I found it to be 
due to a breakdown of the locomotive. After 
a weary night, came a weary waiting for a 
day train. A few vehicles came to our as- 
sistance. The driver of a one-horse wagon 
243 


My Dog Schneider. 

congratulated me, in pleasing address, on the 
nearness of the place which I had fixed for my 
first sojourn in the Catskills. 

Whoever has been the victim of a misun- 
derstanding — if not of intentional deceit — may 
share my disappointment when, moving in this 
conveyance over one eminence after the other, 
I felt I was still at a marked distance from 
those real mountains, which now and then 
appeared in magnificent ranges and heights. 
And we were driving in the face of a threaten- 
ing storm, that had been gathering for hours. 

“Storms,” said the pale driver, “at this alti- 
tude are invariably disastrous. Lucky this 
house is near. It was nothing but a shanty 
till some snowed-up, fancy sportsman advised 
Mrs. Fainwed to replace it, owing to the re- 
gion’s attractiveness, by this building, for the 
accommodation of many guests.” 

A terrific thunderbolt almost drowned his 
last words. 

Quite a collection of people were watching 
the storm from the piazza. The puzzle, why 
such a number of boarders should already have 
flocked to the country in the early springtime, 
was soon solved by the fact that widow Fain- 
wed had contracted three consecutive mar- 
244 


My Dog Schneider. 

riages, consequently retained the care of three 
times three remembrances, whereto must be 
added the wife of the eldest son Jack, the two 
last named being parents of three children. 
Then there were also the mastiff, Ida, and 
the angora cat. 

The expression on the countenances of these 
people was that of awe for the tempest and 
suspicion for the newcomer. However, Mrs. 
Fainwed, the tall, lean, well-preserved, sweet- 
faced widow, seemed composed and not at all 
to share the prevalent prejudice against en- 
lightened city people. 

The rain, beating with fury against the front 
of the house, drove us within. 

Since I was likely to be stormbound for 
some time, the object of my trip was in a fair 
way to be frustrated; so I resolved to make 
a virtue of necessity, and spend some of my 
immediate time removing from the minds of 
my new companions their preconceived ani- 
mosities, by my own delightfully frank per- 
sonality. 

The early morning had been so darkened by 
the storm that Mrs. Fainwed found it neces- 
sary to carry a candle, as she led me to the 
second story, and, with a graceful wave of her 

245 


My Dog Schneider. 

hand, placed several choice rooms at my dis- 
posal. I told her I should prefer the one which 
afforded the amplest view. 

“Then this one may answer,” she responded 
sweetly, and, followed by the mastiff, Ida 
(so named because hailing from Idaho), and the 
youngest grandchild, we entered a neatly fur- 
nished, spacious chamber, with three windows 
looking upon complete darkness, or else storm- 
swept trees. 

“What a beautiful animal this is,” said I, ca- 
ressing the giant. “Like a lion, and — ” 

“And useful, too,” interposed Mrs. Fainwed; 
“by the hour he works unmurmuringly the 
tread-mill, churning.” 

“An utterly condemnable abuse!” I burst 
out, carried beyond the bounds of politeness by 
indignation. 

“I’m always sorry,” ventured the child, 
“when poor Ida is so hard at work with the 
butter.” 

“A very good little girl you are,” I said, 
smilingly stroking her flaxen curls. Plump, 
rosy, she was of the type which mothers — al- 
ways best judges — call “sweet as honey.” 
Little Barefoot was her name. 


246 


My Dog Schneider. 

“What are dogs for?” asked Mrs. Fainwed, 
mildly. 

“To fondle round, to play at watching, to 
delight our hearts.” 

“Queer fancies these, blown from the city.” 

“Rather, Madam, say a human aspect of the 
case.” 

“Mr. — your name escaped me, Sir — Mr. 
Brusque would suit, I think.” 

“Yes, use this name.” 

“And what do you think Madame, your 
companion, may understand from your con- 
versation?” 

“She must learn to regard me with the gen- 
erous toleration of a mother,” I ventured. 

A smile brightened her countenance. She 
appeared pleased with this suggestion of filial 
feeling. Was it from a habit forced upon her 
by a series of husbands, or from superabun- 
dance of motherly tenderness? 

In the parlor she showed me her husbands’ 
framed likenesses, then presented them in an 
album, in younger years, and sighed : 

“Three times loved is three times lived ; 
only sweet remembrances thereafter.” 

Quite sensitive she was regarding mainte- 


247 


My Dog Schneider. 

nance of each father’s individuality in the mind 
of each child. 

“Father Tom, not father Jones, if you please 
— your father in his proper field.” In this 
manner she often corrected her children when 
they playfully threw the fathers into one heap. 
Then she would look up at me demurely, aver- 
ring that through her loving care these hus- 
bands had obtained health and prominence. I 
could not help wondering why the poor men 
had died. 

Furtive looks at me during supper made 
me suspect that my sermon on the use of dogs 
had been repeated to the other members of the 
family by the widow, and with gratification I 
noticed that Ida was not made to tread the 
mill during my stay. 

The tempest’s vehemence was stupendous. 
Branches lashed the blinds as if in the grasp 
of Furies. 

“To two things we don’t get used in this 
part of the country,” said Jack, peevishly, 
amid thunderclaps and lightning-flashes. 

“What are they?” I asked, politely. 

“Death—” 

“Bless your father!” interposed the mother. 
248 


My Dog Schneider. 


“You all bear witness, children, that I hold the 
memory of your respective fathers dear.” 

“Yea!” cried they, in chorus. 

“Death and tempests,” continued Jack, “dis- 
concert us.” He then enlarged on storms ex- 
tending from there all over the Catskills. 

“How high does this hamlet lie?” I in- 
quired. 

“Fully a thousand feet above the level of the 
sea, I reckon.” 

“Are we far from the Catskills?” 

“Yes, and no,” was his unsatisfactory an- 
swer. “No, inasmuch as one chart places us 
at the tail-end of the Catskill Mountains.” 

“That chart I approve, as illustrating my 
energy, which no odds could baffle. For the 
Catskills I started, and here I am,” I said jo- 
vially. 

The mountains proper, I was now certain, I 
could not reach within a week. Why should 
not observations from a distance suffice? I 
was inclined this stormy night to be satisfied 
with the latter. No wonder Rip van Winkle, 
however soft his couch, had contracted rheu- 
matism encountering nights like this. 

After retiring, during the lulls of thunder I 
seemed to hear a weird wail in the distance, 
249 


My Dog Schneider. 

and involuntarily I glanced out of my window 
toward the far mountains, which the light- 
ning sometimes illuminated. The near range 
appeared, almost uninterruptedly, more like a 
region of fire than slopes invested with the 
delicate verdure of spring. 

In vain I tried to sleep. More loudly and 
piteously than before the wail assailed my 
sensibilities. Straining my eyes, I verily be- 
lieved I had discovered the lamenter — lumi- 
nous evanescent. At this sight, life, with its 
glaring incongruities, seemed to me a burden. 
I certainly needed sleep. In vain I counted 
a hundred imaginary sheep jumping, one after 
another, over a fence. Then the infallible nar- 
cotical balm occurred to me: 

“One and twenty, two and twenty, three- 
four-five-six-seven and twenty, eight and 
twenty, nine and twenty ; dollars thir-ir-ir-irty. 
One and thirty, two and thirty—” etc. Scarcely 
had I tried to throw in the comfortable sum 
of $1,000,000, and to securely tie up the bag, 
when sleep overtook me with all its thousand 
and one blessings. 

Next day’s brightness revealed the havoc 
of the storm. The dog in distress was believed 
to have been caught in some underbrush of 
250 


My Dog Schneider. 

the forest, or by an uprooted tree; yet, to my 
wonderment, nobody expressed hope for his 
disentanglement. And this lack of sympathy 
I found more shockingly emphasized, when 
quite early a little girl landed in a Newfound- 
land dog’s strong grasp, just near us, the 
mountain stream having been so swollen as to 
encroach upon our grounds. The child was 
safe and sound, and quite cheerful as soon as 
she was clad in dry garments. But the regu- 
lar road being submerged by the still roarijng 
floods, nobody volunteered to take her back 
to her naturally over-anxious parents ; nor did 
anybody even notice the noble animal to whom 
she owed her life. Was it, I wondered, he of 
the pitifully mournful wail? 

I administered a rebuke to these singularly 
unsympathetic people by a warm recognition 
of the dog’s nobility and myself taking the 
rescued child to her home in a neighboring 
dell — a climb over high, tortuous, partly 
soaked paths. 

There I learned that a boy, who had forced 
his dog to accompany him, had just returned 
from the woods — alone. The dog had been 
struck by lightning. I passed the little, ex- 
cited group without hearing a word of mourn- 

251 


My Dog Schneider. 

ing for the dog, although for aught I knew he 
had sacrificed his life for his master. 

Another night, another day — and the waters 
had receded, and Nature assumed a doubly re- 
vived aspect. Flowers of all colors, of superb 
heights, bordered the slope on one side of the 
main road, while overhanging branches ten- 
dered shade to trout and pike in the small 
river. Murmur of branches, purl over pebbles, 
were accompanied by notes of some blue- 
winged songsters, swinging themselves on 
trees on the other river-bank. 

Many a questioning glance did I throw upon 
the surrounding mountain-chain, investigation 
of which the bad condition of the mountain 
road after the storm, forbade. However, I 
scrambled over the lower elevations to the 
gorge, whose crest I had scaled guided by the 
Newfoundland. An inspection of fields, cattle, 
and people offered no material for an authentic 
and common sense interpretation of the Rip 
van Winkle legend. Perhaps I was not in a 
sufficiently susceptible state to imbibe inspi- 
ration. At any rate, it began to look as if I 
should return without having anything to say 
upon that subject. 

Meeting a comely maiden who was plucking 
252 


My Dog Schneider. 


cardinal and purple flowers, then, when she 
did not find them sufficiently beautiful to suit 
her ladyship, flinging them away ruthlessly, I 
doffed my hat politely, and suggested that if 
she must bring to an untimely end the life of 
these blooms, could she not spare those she 
was discarding to enjoy the sunlight a little 
longer. 

“Why, they are only flowers !” she said, with 
an amused look. 

“But even so, perhaps they delight in living, 
in their own way, as you do. All needless tak- 
ing of life is cruelty.” 

She simply stared at me curiously, politely 
refraining from laughing. 

Finally I led up to the question as to wheth- 
er, in her experience, anything had occurred 
to bear out the truth of the legend anent Rip 
van Winkle. A blank look attested her igno- 
rance. 

“He of twenty years sleep on yonder moun- 
tain,” I helped out, earnestly. 

“You better ask my grandmother; she has 
lost her mind, and she may know.” 

“Good,” said I to myself, with a smile. 
“Here, then, is the first item for my note-book.” 

The maiden departed. 

253 


My Dog Schneider. 

Of course I met, a little later, the inevitable 
youth. He was in his shirt sleeves, baiting his 
fishhook. 

“Good morning! Slouched hat, gun over 
shoulder,” I called out pleasantly, “you remind 
me of good Rip van Winkle on the rampage.” 

“Thanks — although I don’t take it much as 
a compliment,” he responded. “Last night, 
after having exhausted good stuff at the tav- 
ern, we talked, among other things luny, of 
that fellow, said to have done it all out in sleep 
in the Sleepy Hollow.” 

This remark afforded me another note; soon 
I should have to classify, like Webster. 

“No, thank you!” continued the youth. “I’ll 
take mine out in action. Good fishing, good 
shots; then a monument. To illustrate” — he 
leveled his gun at a bluebird which oiled its 
brilliant plumage. 

Incensed by the utter wantonness of his ac- 
tion, I spoiled his shot by altering his aim. The 
bird flew safely away. 

“And who are you?” he exclaimed, in ex- 
treme anger. 

“Mrs. Fainwed calls me Mr. Brusque. I am 
a six-footer, terrible if roused. You are small. 
254 


My Dog Schneider. 

I merely want to remind you of the fact that it 
is bad enough to kill birds and beasts to satisfy 
our hunger. But to kill them for nothing at 
all, except to gratify the lust of destruction, is 
inexcusable.” And I strode homeward very 
much disgusted with the unsympathetic na- 
tures of the people in these mountains. Per- 
haps I expressed my feeling concerning this 
matter a little too freely to hold the good opin- 
ion of my entertainers, for at one time Emily, 
Jack’s wife — as hard of hearing as Mrs. Fain- 
wed — conveyed to me (by audible under- 
tones) that, although hopelessly coarse, Mr. 
Brusque might know, or even be, the inventor 
of the improved wash-rubbers and pitch-forks, 
and similar serviceable implements, and as 
such should be excused for some of his queer 
ways. But this did not check my execrations 
of the inhumanity manifested by nobody’s at- 
tempting to aid the poor cerature whose weird 
appeals continued at long intervals to ring 
through the mountains. 

“You forget,” objected Jack, “that only a 
few houses exist in these secluded sections; 
all else but forest — ” 

“Yet in this house alone, how many able- 
bodied persons! three, four, six, verily seven! 

2 55 


My Dog Schneider. 

without a single one stout-hearted enough to 
search in these familiar woods.” 

“Familiar!” interjected Jack, “familiar, 
where even Rip van Winkle lost his way ! Each 
dog there for himself.” 

“I possess,” retorted I, “two silver dollars, 
reward for him who produces the poor animal 
during my limited stay.” 

“Two whole silver dollars?” burst from 
many lips. 

“Brand new, too,” asserted I. 

“Two brand new dollars !” This from Jack, 
in singularly altered voice. 

Ida shared my room that night. How the 
wail disturbed our slumber ! At times it 
sounded as if proceeding from a ravine in the 
far west; then again seemed carried to my ear 
from eastern mountains. 

The following morning I was summoned 
from my leisurely breakfast to receive a caller 
in the parlor. There, in a corner, grimy hat in 
hand, stood a lean, ragged rustic. By a rusty 
chain he held — well, a creature hard to de- 
scribe ; a composite of many canine breeds, but 
for his single head, a veritable emaciated Cer- 
berus. 

“Badly caught by roots up there in the 
256 


My Dog Schneider. 


mountain; famished; hard to handle. Two 
silver dollars.” This was brought out with 
nervous abruptness. 

“Go, feed him well,” said I, parting with 
the two dollars. 

With equal uneasiness man, dog, and I eyed 
each other, then parted, each with something 
like a growl. 

I returned to my buckwheats, rich with plen- 
teous use of buttermilk, and told the women 
about the finding of the dog. 

As I was complacently entering the sitting- 
room a little later, I heard a wild rush and 
commotion in the road, a rapid pattering on 
the front porch, and in stormed a perfectly 
modeled pointer with a rope fastened to his 
collar. He could not make enough of me. 
Moved by these endearments, and the fact that 
pointers are my favorites, I of course gave him 
a hearty welcome, lifted him, laid him down, 
and danced with him. Thus we had indeed be- 
come fast friends, when a young man, hatless 
and with loose neckerchief, rushed in, and out 
of breath exclaiming: 

“Isn’t Intelligence this dog’s name? Hardly 
had I freed and told him that his benefactor, 
Brusque, was waiting for him far down in the 

257 


My Dog Schneider. 

glen, than he tore himself loose from me and 
hurried off to thank you ! Two dollars for me, 
if you please, Sir!” 

“But, my friend, I just rewarded another 
do g.” 

“That’s just why two dogs had barked.” 

Another aspect. Exeunt man, dog, and dol- 
lars. I dropped into a chair, with my finger 
tips together, feeling relieved with the thought 
that my mental distress was doubly over since 
I had paid twice for its surcease. 

Presently I heard a trip, trip, trip. Then 
through the open door an elegantly-trimmed 
poodle hopped, daintily poised on his hind 
feet, with a receiving-basket in his mouth. He 
pleased me. I deposited a silver dollar in the 
basket. 

“No, no !” shook the poodle. 

“Clink !” a second dollar touched the first. 

The poodle nodded his thanks and hopped 
away. 

But this was not my last visitor by any 
means. A motley array of other candidates, 
setters, grey-hounds, terriers, pugs, bulldogs, 
and collies, with masters as diversified, called 
successively on strictly confidential business. 
Of course I was glad to see the dogs. I always 
258 


My Dog Schneider. 

had a strong affection for them, and made the 
most of this opportunity; yet I confess I was 
a trifle bewildered at the number that must 
have been caught in the mountains during the 
night. No wonder I had been troubled by the 
vision of the phosphorescent canine. 

“Well, I declare !” said Jack, glancing out of 
the window, as he sat down to the supper 
table, “if there isn’t rich Yespath coming with 
his great Dane 1” 

“Wants to see our guest, privately,” said a 
sister. 

Mr. Yespath was a picture of opulence, if 
gold and diamond ornaments may be said to 
constitute it. He was an envied neighbor, liv- 
ing but a few months during the year in his 
luxuriously-equipped mountain home. Rich 
were his stables, rich his ferneries; all about 
the estate breathed richness. 

“This pet,” he told me, with gentlemanly 
bearing, “will, I guarantee you, not again to 
be caught wailing on the mountain — I de- 
stroyed his collar.” 

“Never had a collar!” burst forth from the 
supper-table. 

“That is neither here nor there,” said Mr. 
Yespath, with disdain. “Two dollars were of- 

259 


My Dog Schneider. 

fered for the wailing dog. I am here with the 
dog. I have spoken.” 

The willingness of such a fine gentleman to 
take a commoner’s two dollars was so beauti- 
fully democratic that I gave them cheerfully. 

Close upon Mr. Yespath’s heels followed an- 
other dog and a master. 

“I won’t believe yours is the dog that 
wailed,” I said, desperately, “unless you now 
force a bark.” 

“Dis yer dog nivver bark, sor!” 

“That’s just why there is no reward.” 

The master beat his brow. “Ev yer plaze, 
sor, let me spake out: dis yer dog he nivver 
barked in his native land ; but in yer Ammeri- 
gan mountain he barked hisself hoarse, hence 
he is without a throat, ergo spacheless since I 
found him for yer two dollars.” 

I crowned this supreme effort with two dol- 
lars, further arguing that we must not sus- 
pect everybody, but should oftener trust. 

Then there was a lull. My entertainers 
kindly sought to take my mind off of my ca- 
nine perplexities by pleasant conversation. I 
was just beginning to feel confident that the 
episode was closed, when I was surprised by 


260 


My Dog Schneider. 

Little Barefoot leading her beautiful dog to 
me. 

“Papa caught Ida last night a-wailing in 
the woods.” 

“That cannot very well be, my child ! Ida 
slept in my room last night.” 

“I know his ways, though — in and out of the 
window all the time.” 

“But he had no string round his neck, 
whereby to be entangled.” 

“He had one, too.” 

“Then where is the string?” irrelevantly. 

While this question puzzled the child, a 
prompter (possibly the wind) whispered 
through the slightly open door: “The dog 
swallowed the string;” which five words she 
falteringly rendered with: “I ate string-beans 
when papa freed Ida.” 

Her words touched, as utterly ludicrous, my 
humorous vein to such a degree, that I fairly 
lost myself in laughter, enhanced by the of 
course entirely unjustified thought that my 
merriment might be witnessed by an uncer- 
tain quantity of disappointed people in the 
dark hall and on the piazza, as well as at the 
five keyholes. 


261 


My Dog Schneider. 

The child, only six years and 358 days old, 
reckoned by the date given for her approach- 
ing birthday, had no doubt acted in good faith. 

“You are a very good little girl,” I at length 
said, petting her and laying two dollars into 
her plump hands. No matter how others may 
consider the joke, to me, its victim, it was a 
diversion really worth all I had paid out on 
account of it. And as to Little Barefoot, she 
was an interesting child, and I made up my 
mind to inquire next year, or sooner, into the 
matter of her education in the Fainwed home- 
stead. 

The sun had set. I hastened to my room, in 
silence there to listen, hoping that one of my 
numerous four-footed visitors had been the 
real sufferer. But I was doomed to disappoint- 
ment, for presently I heard again the far-off 
mournful wail. But more than this I again 
beheld, more distinctly than before, the la- 
menter’s luminous apparation, which had so 
disconcerted me the first night. In that mo- 
ment I determined that deceptions should 
yield to stubborn facts through my own liber- 
ating hand, my own sternly scientific eye. Pro- 
viding myself with my felt hat, stock, field- 
glass, and compass, I settled my board and 
262 


My Dog Schneider. 

asked of my hostess two favors; the first was 
to mail my “last will and testament” (the ex- 
pense book) to my residence in the big city, 
the second was to keep a beacon light alive 
above the porch. 

“Why, Mr. Brusque, why this sudden de- 
parture?” inquired the widow, anxiously. 

“I am not satisfied that I have seen the right 
dog. Do you hear its wails?” 

“Where is Ida?” asked Jack. 

“Run back to the distant summit?” inquired 
Little Barefoot. 

“Do not you perceive the flash shaped like a 
dog?” I said, impatiently. “I will myself re- 
deem the sufferer, e’en if I perish in the ad- 
venture. My valise and its contents are yours,” 
I said, turning again to Mrs. Fainwed, “should 
I not return.” 

“Oh, you must not make such a bold ven- 
ture into paths with which you are not fa- 
miliar!” pleaded she. 

“Nor right, nor left, a bee line be my guide !” 
I said, lightly, as I departed. 

“Will he ever come back ?” some one queried. 

“I’m afraid he won’t,” responded a female 
voice, scarce heard. 

The river crossed (by boat within the bee 
263 


My Dog Schneider. 

line) I impetuously proceeded through under- 
brush and high-grown tangles. I had long 
been lost to human eyes when ravines and 
abysses necessitated circuitous courses, from 
which, however, I always returned to the pre- 
scribed line. Unsymmetrical rocks frowned 
all around in forbidding fashion. The moon 
shone niggardly, as if aware (some would 
say) that my errand was not one of romance. 
But I did not need her assistance, as I carried 
an artificial light in order to observe my com- 
pass. There were some growling animals in 
my path, but they shrank back before my 
tempestuous eagerness to reach the summit. 
This at length reached presented to me a most 
unwelcome surprise, for when, from the cheer- 
ing backward glance upon the beacon, my eyes 
turned forward, I saw that the elevation — 
which from the Fainwed homestead had ap- 
peared as a mere terrace on the summit — was 
separated from me by a wide, black, yawning 
chasm, inhabited by densely crowded trees 
and — who knew what else ! Yet that very ele- 
vation, virtually the summit of a mountain 
higher than that on which I stood, was the 
point for my research. 

“Whui, whui ! Ha-ha, hi-hi 1” This was the 
264 


My Dog Schneider. 


assortment of owl-notes that assailed my ears, 
and they were interspersed with the screech of 
wolves and vultures. 

I struggled on through these melodious 
darknesses, lured forward by the sad and 
gentle wail, now from yonder heights much 
nearer than before. My downward steps, 
though resolute, resembled ceaseless flight, so 
violent was their impetus over slippery 
ground. The intervening torrent at the moun- 
tain’s foot, just touched by the scant radiance 
of the moon, offered unexpectedly convenient 
stepping bowlders. These passed, my ascent 
among distorted trunks of trees and other ob- 
stacles, the nature of which I could not deter- 
mine, proved doubly tortuous. The passages 
left by defunct mountain-streams, might to a 
romancist seem more suitable highroads for 
brownies, gnomes, and the like. 

As I strove forward a distinct touch at my 
elbow made me feel a trifle uncanny. A stronger 
knock, as from a fist, put me on my mettle. I 
looked about for its cause. Strange to say, 
my thoughts migrated toward my mother. A 
luminous vapor hovering in the deep, black 
distance chanced to be of a woman’s shape, 
which unconsciously brought to my mind the 
265 


My Dog Schneider. 

Wolf’s Glen where, at midnight, the mis- 
guided Freischiitz is warned back by the ap- 
parition of his mother. Away from me, chi- 
meras like these ! — was mamma not hale and 
hearty, bicycling in the park only a few days 
ago? and I should be afraid of mamma! Float, 
phantoms, in the air! a freeshooter am not I. 
I well know, you are nothing but owls blink- 
ing at me in the dark, taking advantage of the 
fact that you can see me while I cannot see 
you. Go away, nasty things! did I not just 
tell you, I needed no fanning? Yes, I am cool 
and collected ; can bend low, raise myself six 
feet, and, on top of that, jump six feet five and 
a half inches, equal to one hundred and forty- 
nine and a half inches in the air to tickle your 
owl-throats. Away, I say ! The great de- 
ceiver Moon makes it appear as if you were 
but eyes ; you need not ope them so unduly — I 
know, you beasts have eyes. Owls, panthers, 
wildcats, vultures, bears — whatever the dark- 
ness may hold — away with ye ! Do not dis- 
turb by your grim suggestiveness the sublime 
calm that is beginning to take possession of 
me. 

Suddenly I was halted by an iron grasp. 
That, I admit, made me feel “funny” — an am- 
266 


My Dog Schneider. 

biguous word, meaning in this case a little bit 
queer about the region of the roots of my hair. 

“You come along, a trifle to the right, to our 
bowling-alley. Capital fun, we guarantee you.” 

The speaker was a dwarfish, thick-set, 
bearded, homely man, so uncanny that I al- 
most felt like shuddering. Should I give way 
to fear? First let one hurt you, then strike 
back with might and main, each fisticuff di- 
rected by a thoroughly composed mind. If 
you cannot defend yourself, only then fear. 

“No, thank you. I follow a strict bee-line.” 

A big cask rested on the hand-cart of the 
dwarf ; quite a number of his kind, equally 
provided, toiled upward on the defunct moun- 
tain channel. 

“In honor of the night I propose to treat you 
to a glass of champagne !” said he who had ac- 
costed me, turning the faucet and drawing the 
liquid into a goblet. 

“No, thank you. I am a teetotaler.” 

“Ho, there !” addressing one of his tribe ; 
“pour out a cup of milk. The best milk ever 
drawn. Take it, earthling!” 

“Milk from a cask? Learn milking in a 
dairy, you. Avant! Begone! Away with 
sleeping potions !” 


267 


My Dog Schneider. 

Thus exorcised, they fled. The motions in 
their casks explained to me the former splash- 
ing on the dried-up torrent bed. 

I blessed my nerves. I had met the self- 
same gnomes that had misled poor Rip; by in- 
stinct I had recognized them as such, and by 
this recognition gained power over them. 

At length a level stretch, but scantily grown 
with trees, whose shape suggested the syca- 
more, offered me some relief in my journey- 
ing. Here a strange genus of flower aroused 
my curiosity. It sprang from the earth on 
two crooked stems ; these united for a space 
and again branched off, like outspread arms, 
while from the bowed head flowed silky hair 
mingling with a snow-white beard. Without 
the charm of youth, it was a stately flower 
withal. 

“Peace by day; passion by night!” sounded 
softly around me. 

“Then you,” I rejoined, “pursue the dictates 
of passionate love ! Liberation of a dog is my 
object.” 

“Uhui ! Uhui !” 

My admirable tranquillity of mind simply 
exasperated them. 

Before proceeding to the summit my field- 
268 


My Dog Schneider. 

glass was brought into requisition. Suddenly 
a flash (not unlike that of a comet) passed 
within its range. Lowering it, I discovered 
the wailing dog. Like a flash, which indeed he 
was, I saw him run around a rock of wild gro- 
tesqueness. The weird brightness of the dog, 
which illuminated the rock for a moment, was 
indescribable and inexplicable. How thankful 
I felt throughout my doubts, that the dog was 
free to move about, and not caught in some 
painful position as I had expected to find him. 
Scientifically inclined, I hastened after him to- 
ward the giant rock. There, however, I was 
arrested by the bewildering question in a se- 
pulchral voice: 

“Whither so fast?” 

I turned and beheld the outlines of Rip van 
Winkle in his historic posture. One hand on 
the crumbling remnants of a gun, the other 
upon the troubled brow, he waited for my an- 
swer. 

“In search of the dog in distress. Oh, how 
deeply his wail cut into my heart ! To relieve 
him I ascended, descended yonder precipitous 
mountain, traversed the torrent, and again as- 
cended, on disputed paths; and from hurried 
perception, I almost believe that seeming wail 
269 


My Dog Schneider. 

to be an expression of joy. I desire to examine 
the dog — happy for me if this assumption 
prove true !” 

“Sooner canst thou lay hold of a lightning- 
flash, or outroar the thunder when it shaketh 
the Catskills, than catch my dog Schneider. ,, 

“Him of uncouth, so perplexingly illumi- 
nated shape?” 

“Yea, he is my dog Schneider, falsely re- 
ported as having roamed round my deserted 
home, there waiting for me ; while on the 
mountain I slumbered. Near me slept for 
twenty years my faithful dog Schneider. And 
when the rains fell, deluge-like, and snowdrifts 
almost buried everything, my hand was on the 
head of my poor dog Schneider. The beer we 
had drunk as an innocent soul-comforter had 
been drugged, condemning us to sleep, myself 
and my poor dog Schneider. Oh, listen not to 
the guile of gnomes !” 

“Don’t worry,” I vaunted. “Didn’t I make 
them hustle, though !” 

“But,” he resumed, “when at length I shook 
off the spell and found our lives so much short- 
ened, grief possessed me, and blasphemously I 
swore to re-live, after death, the long term lost 
by sleep — swore I and my dog Schneider. Alas 
270 


My Dog Schneider. 

for that oath ! A wholesome sleep was granted 
us in the grave, when up our spirits were sum- 
moned unto these haunts, somewhat removed 
from those which were formerly ours, by the 
drift of civilization. Rest, rest — how sweet 
were rest! The registered summers and win- 
ters, how slowly, slowly they pass! From 
thine, our views how different! Denizens erst 
of the grave, victims we are of weltschmerz !” 

“Weltschmerz? What ailment, pray, is 
that ?” 

“If the scoldings and cuffs of thy gueae 
vrouw appear to have been well merited, to 
thee, and thou canst not thank her for them, 
weltschmerz ! If thou hast loved thy vrouw 
and lost her, weltschmerz !” 

I chuckled, happy not to be possessed of a 
wife, or, I should say, not to have lost a wife. 
By this time I felt at ease with Rip ; in truth, I 
preferred his company, because he served as 
scarecrow against the birds and beasts of 
night. 

“If,” he continued, “all ways are barred from 
comfort, weltschmerz; if thou art afflicted with 
no thirst, with no hunger, weltschmerz, neither 
fairly alive nor fairly dead, weltschmerz; con- 
scious that all is vain and in vain, weltsch- 

27 1 


My Dog Schneider. 

merz; chagrin, dejection, weariness, despair — 
all these soaked in cayenne pepper elixir, such 
as my guede vrouw concocted to physic me, 
weltschmerz !” 

The monotony breathed into this last utter- 
ance impressed me with the wonderful weird- 
ness of it all. 

“Endeavor to cure thyself of weltschmerz: 
Weltschmerz !” he continued. “In vain I tried 
to shake it off; and my dog Schneider tries — 
but in vain — by darting fiery flashes of his into 
his earthly kin, whereupon such dogs wail, 
‘Oh, weltschmerz !’ ” 

“You mean to say,” I interrupted, “that the 
wail I heard has been the wail of many dogs 
thus tormented? that each dog represented to 
me as having wailed, was thus affected?” 

“Assuredly each one of them was struck 
with weltschmerz, and will continue to wail 
until I have withdrawn the flashes.” 

“If these haunts trouble you, why not flee to 
others? America has so many beautiful 
haunts.” 

“We are confined to a section — what but a 
fertile grave? — of the Catskills.” 

“Then why not raise your thoughts beyond 
this section?” 


272 


My Dog Schneider. 

“Changes, no doubt, have taken place ?” 

“Yes, we have vanquished the Spaniard, we 
have acquired new lands, and the sun does not 
set on our dominions !” 

Perplexed, Van Winkle touched his brow. 

“Nor,” said I, “can I myself as yet compre- 
hend.” 

“How many perished?” he asked, much con- 
cerned. The dog shot by; I could see Rip’s 
expression. As if suddenly recollecting him- 
self, he said, hurriedly, “Too long have I dal- 
lied. Gather together, I must, the discharged 
flashes and reinstill them into my dog Schnei- 
der. Alas, as long as we walk his wail will 
last, and so will our weltschmerz !” 

How I retraced my steps to the Fainwed 
mansion I cannot remember. But I was con- 
scious that my realistic sentiments had been 
severely shaken. It was daylight when I 
reached the house, and I was greeted by won- 
dering, curious faces, and as many questions. 

“I cannot answer — I am too fatigued, as well 
as upset. I’ll write. The fastest horse — is it 
in the barn?” 

“Aye, inasmuch as we have but one,” said 
Jack. “Recently the other died.” 

“A natural death?” 

273 


My Dog Schneider. 

“Quite so, after having been used for the up- 
rooting of stumps.” 

“Unmitigated brute!” I burst forth, eying 
all present in just wrath. “The abused ani- 
mal’s death were worlds too mild a punishment 
for you ! I’ll send you a patent stump-up- 
rooter. Woe to you, if you again use a beast 
for such labor! I’m off; but think of this 
warning whenever a storm is in sight or upon 
you — the next victim may not be a horse, but 
one of your circle!” 

I helped harness the horse, and Jack took 
the reins. At the porch we halted for my bag- 
gage. 

“Have you nothing to say — about your trip 
— before going?” said the widow, looking up 
pleadingly. 

I thought a moment, then turning to her re- 
sponded: “There was among the mosses in 
the mountains a wonderful flower : two crooked 
stems united in one, then branched off, like 
arms from shoulders; the blossom quite pale, 
with eyes like the pansy’s; mouth not unlike 
the blooming lion’s mouth, and something sim- 
ilar to corn-silk, seemed to have lent it beard 
and tresses.” 


*74 


My Dog Schneider. 

“Oh, he means the mythic Ripvanwinkle- 
flower.” 

“He is far gone, indeed !” an utterance not 
intended for my ear. 

“Too soon he will have gone too far,” sighed 
Mrs. Fainwed. “Remember, should you ever 
meet with losses,” and she smiled sadly, “four 
times loved is four times lived !” 

“I vow you loving friendship, then !” which, 
lightly said, I waved my hat and departed. 

Presently an uneasiness seized me, that all 
the dogs who had collected two dollars apiece 
from me, were following me, led by the little 
black poodle carrying the collection-basket. I 
grasped the reins and behaved as if I had heard 
the locomotive’s whistle even at that distance 
from the railroad station. 

“Oh, there you are !” said an unknown in- 
dividual, coming up to me as I alighted in the 
city. “My friend just wired me that you were 
after the dog who had been a-wailing in the 
mountain. Here he is, my wayward pet, this 
noon returned to me by express.” 

“Let me feel his pulse!” I said, gravely. 
“No, I cannot comply, because this dog has 
not weltschmerz.” 

“But, Sir, you surely have two silver dollars, 

275 


My Dog Schneider. 

as offset for my pains. Besides, I have spent 
a fortune in the interest of the silver standard, 
thereby aiding you, a silverite.” 

“ I will be plain. You err,” rejoined I, “I 
favor the gold standard. So hand me two gold 
dollars, no matter how old, in exchange for 
these my last two brand new silver dollars, and I 
will call it quits.” 

“I don’t like your argument, Sir.” 

“But I like this dog.” 

“Then take the cur !” (kicking the dog) 
“the first best one taken hold of at the corner, 
as the delayed telegram arrived simultaneously 
with my dog on your boat.” 

“You are a rogue!” said I; “I dare you to 
touch this dog again! Note well: this stick is 
through with mountain service !” The ruffian 
did not budge. 

“Reform,” I said, further, “or chastisement 
will surely overtake you.” 

And I took pity on the dog, and adopted 
him. 

When I entered my premises, the janitor 
said: 

“Oh, Mr. Millionaire, you have brought a 
companion with you !” 

“Yes,” I replied, “this is my dog Schneider.” 
276 


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